


Mirelurks in a Bucket

by bellicosebabe



Category: Fallout 1, Fallout 2, Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout 76, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Slight Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellicosebabe/pseuds/bellicosebabe
Summary: Once, when I was playing, I found the body of a raider with good karma next to a medical textbook.  I started to wonder what his story was.  How did he come across the book?  Why was he reading it?  What did he want?  I decided to try to tell that story as best I can, finally exploring the world of raiders for the first time.
Comments: 35
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time posting. Though the summary implies he will die, the story has evolved a lot over the years, and I make no promises. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” my mother said.

I nodded grimly. The knife was tucked away on my person. Years ago, she had taught me a trick to tuck away a knife so snugly into your clothes that no one would notice. I was going to be using it later.

She nodded back, determined. Her dark eyes were as hard as flint. 

“Listen, you’re only going to get one shot at this. Kill them all, no mercy, if you can. If you can't, I don't care. Just run, get away. And then, I want you to head to Canterbury Commons. Don’t look back, don’t come back for me. The man you’re looking for will be there. Once you’re there, you can figure out what to do next.” 

I knew what she meant by that. We’d had many fights in the past, with me insisting that I would gather supplies and help and come back for her. She never wanted to hear it. Her idea of a good life for me would be heading south after meeting my father, to work in the labs at Rivet City. She never seemed to understand that I would be coming back for her, like it or not. 

It was almost like she could hear my thoughts, because she said, “Now, I don’t want to hear any of that ‘I’m coming back,’ stuff. I know this is hard, but I didn’t work as hard as I did to teach you science and math here for you to become just another raider. You’re doing to get out of here.” She squeezed both my shoulders, eyes bright with the flicker of hope. Her eyes were the only place you could find any hope down here. 

I nodded again. I couldn’t talk around the lump in my throat. 

“Now, once you’re out, find Smiling Jack. He'll give you the supplies you need for the journey. You know who to talk to about getting a message to him.” 

At that, I couldn’t hide my grimace. Not only had I always disliked the creepy trader who often stayed at the bazaar, but I was suspicious the only reason she was sending me with him was to keep me from trying to help her. He was practical, slimey and self-serving. For the caps she’d given him, he would probably tie me to the back of his brahmin and carry me to Canterbury if I was unwilling. But, I had to admit, traveling with his motley collection of mercenaries was probably one of the safer ways across the wasteland. 

“Yo, Darling, is your precious baby boy ready?” a male voice called. With that, a dirty man with a black mohawk threw his arm around her shoulder, leaning in close. It turned my stomach. 

“Yes, Brute,” she said. “He’s ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his mother's blessing, he heads out.

Standing behind Brute was a collection of smirking men and women he jokingly called “The Welcome Party.” When someone wanted to break away from their normal lives to become a raider, they had to start here. By letting Brute and his group beat them nearly to death. 

Even though I had been born and raised here, now that I was eighteen, it was my turn. For months, it was all I had heard about in the mess hall. I would be trying to eat and stay out of everyones’ way, when someone would smack me across the back of my head, saying they were “Just helping me get ready for the big event.” They acted like it was a big party, when really, it was just one of Brute’s ego trips. 

In response to my mother's vote of confidence, Brute said, “I want to hear it from him. Are you ready, pretty boy?” 

Now was my chance to show them that I wasn’t afraid. That no matter what they were going to do to me, I was prepared. I remembered the knife, small but serrated. They would search me, of course, but I would be ready. 

I stood up straighter. “I was born ready,” I said. 

At that, the group with their baseball bats and boards broke into whoops and laughter. To them, it was probably a toss up between appreciating my nerve and hoping Brute would get angry enough to knock me out early. 

I turned to my mom. We tried to never show real emotion out in the bazaar. She had drilled me from an early age that when you show any other raider emotion, all they see is weakness. And they wouldn’t be afraid to exploit that weakness later. Because of that, out in the open she left me alone, or merely acted like I was a burden. Her act kept me from standing out too much. But when we were alone in the tiny room that had been my home growing up, she treated me as well as she knew how. 

Earlier that day, we had said our real goodbyes. Whatever plans I was cooking up, we both knew chances were we’d never see each other again. That’s the way initiation went. There’s a decent chance of death even if you do prepare if your welcome party is too hopped up on chems and “forgets” to stop beating you. And, if I don’t manage my escape, the group would probably lead me to some raider outpost that needs more guarding. From there, it would be almost as hard to leave as it is here. Really, the short time when I’m with the small welcoming committee will be my best shot to get out. 

Even though my mother had long ago mastered putting on a tough face in front of other raiders, I could see that she was close to breaking. I swear, I could see her fighting back tears. It reminded me of how she had cried in our dinghy room, saying “I love you,” and “Don’t ever look back.” I had barely managed to speak then, and there was no chance I could now. 

Instead, I nodded at her, firmly. She nodded back. This sign of strength was acceptable to the group, who for once stood quiet. I wondered, then, if there was a small part in the back of their minds that ever wondered if what they were doing was wrong. I doubted it.

“Okay, then,” said Brute. “Get moving!” 

This was aimed at me. I knew that they wouldn’t be letting my mom go anywhere. I inclined my head slightly, indicating that I would follow. The group started down the wooden pathways leading to the bottom of the cavern that housed the Bazaar. Right before I started to follow them, I turned and saw that my mom was offering me a small smile. She hardly ever had reason to smile, even when we were home. Seeing her smile now didn’t mean that she was happy. Just that she wanted to offer me this little bit of strength as I walked out of her life, possibly forever. She had already given me so much, so I smiled back. 

Then, I turned and followed the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If you're reading this, just know that I am so grateful. Like I said before, this is my first story on the platform, and one that I've been sitting on for a really long time. I hope that you enjoy it, even though it's getting off to a slow start. 
> 
> The chapters are probably going to be really short for a while. Since I'm home a lot because of the virus, I'm hoping to work on this every day, and maybe even post almost every day. I have big plans for this story, so you can always check back in in a week or two, and there will be a lot more action! 
> 
> Thanks again, and if you have any constructive criticism, let me know. My main desire is to improve my writing while in quarentine, and I'd greatly appreciate any advice! :)


	3. The Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raider gets initiated.

We left just as the sun was beginning to rise. Initiation happened early, so the victim would be off their game. Plus, I would have to spend the rest of the day, laying out in the sun suffering from my wounds. That is, if I wasn’t able to pull this off. 

The Bazaar, the place where I grew up, was really more a cave. To get in, people had to enter from an old, abandoned mill up top. Once you were at the very deepest part of the basement, you could then enter the bazaar, right at the bottom. At the bottom was the bar, which was loosely manned by basically anyone standing upright. It was full of beer and chems stolen by raiding parties. Late into the night, and all through the day, you could find people there, drinking, fighting, and yelling. Now, though, people were laying around, strung out and exhausted. One raider was laying face-down in a puddle of spilled beer, a needle still poking out of his arm. I wondered if he was dead. 

To climb along the walls of the caverns, you had to take rickety, wooden bridges that had been placed between the natural outcroppings of the cave. Along the way up, you would pass pool tables where people liked to gamble on games, the entrance to Smiling Jack’s store, and shelves littered with junk picked up on raids. Mostly, these were things drunk people had found funny, like a brahmin skull someone had put a party hat on, or a mannequin with sunglasses. 

At the top was where I lived. There were red emergency lights strung up everywhere, offering the place a constant glow. They said that in old world cities, red lights meant prostitutes. I’m sure whoever had put them up probably thought he was hilarious, too. 

The lights revealed another cave, recessed right at the top of the cavern. Out front was a stripper pole, probably pulled from some of the old-world debris outside. Some of mom’s girls liked to work there for extra caps. Sometimes, girls who didn’t work at the brothel took on a turn there, too. Maybe they were drunk, maybe they wanted enough caps for another hit, I don’t know. But if they made a habit of it, sometimes they ended up working in the back rooms. 

That’s where I lived. Now, don’t think that I was a nightly customer or anything. In fact, I had practically grown up with so many of the girls, they were practically my sisters. No, my mother and I had a room with two mattresses and only hers was used for business. I’m lucky that way. 

I saw all this as I followed the group down the path. They could have easily handcuffed or chained me, like they often did with new recruits. But since they knew me and respected my mother, in their own twisted way, they let me be. Because of that, I was able to better focus on my surroundings as we walked out. 

After spending my whole life here, it was strange to think that this might be the last time I ever saw the place. Yes, it was filled with assholes, and it was constantly loud and abrasive. But it was also home for so long, I wasn’t sure how to leave it. The thought of trying to find a new home in the wastes was almost as scary as the beating I was about to get. My heart started beating faster as we approached the doorway at the bottom of the cavern. They opened the door, and we entered the mill. 

I had only been here a couple of times. It wasn’t often that I was able to swing a job outside, and mom always wanted me inside where she could keep at eye on me. It was just as I remembered, full of food littered everywhere, and dirty. The few raiders that we on guard waved happily to Brute and called out jokes about the new recruit they were going to beat. It was like they didn’t even know me. Though, it wouldn’t make any difference if they did. 

Finally, we were outside. My heart swelled at the sight of the orange light just barely starting to touch the inside of our little valley. The reason the raiders had held on so tightly to this place was because of the rock walls that surrounded it, and created a cavern that you had to enter through. That was where we were heading. 

Along the way, I saw it. The behemoth. He was a huge super mutant that the founders of this place had captured however long ago. He was also the main reason that they had been able to take control of the mill and to keep outsiders like the Brotherhood of Steel in their place. 

He walked past him, and his eyes followed us as we went, red and beady. The was about the height of a two story building, scarred and bruised from the many hits he’d taken from jeering raiders on the other side of the fence while they were drunk and partying. His teeth were always revealed in a grimace. He looked about ready to kill. I turned away from him. 

We continued through the camp. Many of the raiders here slept either in the makeshift, open-air huts made out of corrugated iron pieces found around the plant. There were also about four more stable houses, in which up to ten or twelve raiders at a time would sleep or party in the small rooms. You had to have decent caps to live out here, or a reputation for brutality on raids. In fact, that was how Brute had gotten his name. He had a reputation for cruelty against captured citizens of the small towns he raided. It wasn’t that he was particularly strong, or smart. Instead, he was respected for the horrible things his twisted little mind dreamt up. 

Finally, we reached the narrow canyon that marked the entrance into the rest of the Wastes. The raiders on guard waved us through at the site of Brute, smiling with glee. I gulped. This was really happening. 

We followed the canyon, picking our way carefully around the mines we had set up to deter intruders. Only one or two of the raiders up front seemed to know the path by heart, and we followed carefully in their footsteps . It wasn’t unheard of for someone to blow off their foot with one false step. And once you couldn’t raid anymore, you’d be lucky if the worst that happen to you was getting left out in the desert, crippled and alone. Most times, you could get killed on site for that kind of carelessness. 

Once we were out, Brute seemed to choose a direction at random, and we kept walking under the punishing sun. Part of initiation was choosing somewhere far enough away that the crawl back would be difficult, but not completely impossible. Still, that didn’t mean that people didn’t die on the way. Sometimes it was from exposure. Sometimes they’d be picked off as easy targets. That’s what my knife was for. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, we arrived at a statue outside a building. I didn’t have any bearings on where we were, but I had made sure to make a note of the way we got here. It was up to me to return to the Mills. That’s what the other raiders will expect from me. If I come back, that means that I passed Initiation, and they will throw a huge party in my honor. But then, I’ll be stuck in this life forever. Luckily, we had a plan. 

Brute grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and stood me in front of the statue. The rest of the group circled around me, holding their weapons and smiling with a cold glee. Brute then gave me a cursory pat-down. He was probably drunk already, judging from the smell of his breath as he came close to me. His search wasn’t thorough, and he missed my knife, which was tucked close to my body under my clothes. I kept my features neutral, even though I was relieved. Now, I wouldn’t be completely defenseless in the Wasteland after the beating. 

“Now,” said Brute, standing in front of me. “You know the deal, pipsqueak. We are going to beat you, to see if you have what it takes. Then, we’re going to leave. You stay back, and after an hour, you can come after us. It’s your job to make it back to the Mills. Make it back alive, and you’re one of us, permanently. Die, and we’ll know you never really had it in you, no matter what that whore mom of yours thinks of you.” 

I clenched my fists at my sides, and my jaw flexed. I hated hearing them talk about her that way, much more than even she did, I knew. But it was time to hold my tongue. 

Brute then made a big show of putting on his trademark spiked knuckles. He was the only one not using a bat or a board, and he wanted to make sure I knew it. Any puncture wounds made would be his. I already hated him for them. 

Finally, once they were on, he kissed them, and turned to me. “You ready?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I said. I knew the plan, and mom had dosed me with med-x before I left. It was lucky that no one seemed to notice, but I also knew that it had started to wear off during the long walk. Maybe we were expected to dose up before Initiation, and the walk was their way of making sure we don’t have enough Psycho or Jet in our system to take someone out. 

“Okay, you lot,” he said, addressing his words to his band of bloodthirsty lackies. “I want this nice and clean. Beat him within an inch of his life. Don’t hold back. Remember this is the same kid who’s always thought he was too good for the raider life. I think that it’s about time he was taken down a peg, don’t you?” 

The group came out with choruses of “yeah’s”. I gritted my teeth. Yes, I had tried to hide my hatred of the raider lifestyle, but it had been no use. They knew I hated them, and it made them hate me more. It was a vicious cycle of abuse I had endured my whole life. It was no wonder that it came up now. 

Brute didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “I can barely hear you! I said, ‘Don’t you?’” Now, he said it louder. It was a challenge and a battle cry, all rolled into one. 

The group picked up on the shift in energy, clinging tighter to their weapons and looking agree. “Yes!” they screamed as a chorus. 

“Get him!” Brute said, throwing his spiked fist into the air. 

The air was torn with their screams as they rushed me. 

If I showed my knife, I’d be shot. If I ran, I’d be shot. So, I stood there, and took their beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I want to thank everyone who's left a kudos! I honestly really appreciate it, and it makes me really excited! 
> 
> Sorry that it's been a few weeks. I'm back on it now, though, and I've worked out a lot of the coming plot. I'm really excited to keep working on it. 
> 
> I'm not sure if I mentioned this in the previous author's note, but I'm basing the initiation on a random encounter you can get in Fallout 3, where you can find a group of raiders beating another raider in their underwear, and the implication is they're initiating them. I thought that this was a really interesting insight into raider life, so I wanted to include it in my story. I didn't really have the stomach to right about the actual beating today, but plan to talk more about it and the aftermath in the next chapter. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Any feedback would be appreciated, because all I want is to be able to improve my writing! Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Lockpicking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raider wakes, and looks for supplies. But when he finds his way bared with a lock and only three bobby pins to his name, will he survive?

When I woke up, I was in agony. Not just from the beating, but also from being asleep on the hard concrete underneath the unforgiving sun. 

There was one bottle of water next to me. Unpurified. A cruel joke I expect the raiders like to play on every Initiate. 

Fighting the urge to chug the whole thing, I sipped at the water slowly. I wanted to thoroughly wet my chapped lips and parched throat. I saved about a quarter for later. I didn’t know when I would next find water. After all, I still had to survive the walk back to get the supplies my mother had hidden for me. 

The walk was just as, if not more, important than the beating. All the beating proved was that you could take a hit. Or, more accurately, a lot of hits. Which was expected of every raider. But the next part was the true test. If the raiders had followed tradition, there would be a cache of scant supplies hidden while I had been passed out. The goal of the Initiation wasn’t the kill new raiders outright, but to see if they had the skill to survive with almost nothing: an important skill, even in the belly of the Mills. 

I heaved myself to my feet, clutching my water bottle. I remember my mother drilling me for this day, “Whatever you do, find and save your water. Dehydration will kill you faster than almost anything.”

I was still near the statue where I’d been beaten. An old-world relic that was sure to draw attention. I must have looked truly dead to the world, considering no one had bothered me. Not even the Super Mutants that were rumored to kidnap wasteland saps like me.

I scanned the ground, overturning debris and looking for the bag of supplies I knew must be there. Though almost everyone in the Mills hated me, this part of the tradition would surely have been followed, if only to further prove my supposed inferiority if I didn’t make it back. 

Delirious from the heat, I stumbled around, planning to check behind the statue. I must have missed something, because my bare foot struck something hard and pointed sticking out of the ground. I fell hard. 

Cursing and clutching at my already bruised knee, I looked around in anger. And there, out peaked the half-buried corner of a metal box. Hope soared in my chest. I’d already lost a lot of time to sleep, so it was good to be back on track. 

I scrambled back and started digging the box out of the hard ground. Finally, it was out. I brushed off some of the dirt caking it. 

And found a lock. 

I bit back a scream of anger. 

This, more than the insults and the apparent joy they had felt at my beating showed just how much the raiders hated me. They had put an unnecessary and unheard of barrier between me and my supplies. I knew that this wasn’t something they normally did. My mother had grilled everyone she could about what I could expect, and she would have told me about this if she had known. No, this wasn’t tradition. This was one last “Screw you,” from the rest of the gang. They had no expectation that I would have the knowledge or tools to get past this lock. They wanted to kill me.

But I didn’t have time to dwell on that. Luckily, I did have something to work with. Three bobby pins, tucked in the shaggy, messy hair behind my ear. They weren’t a fashion statement. In fact, I had taken pains to make sure no one but my mother ever learned I had them. Not just to spare myself the ridicule they would likely bring. But also to make sure they wouldn’t be stolen. 

Three. Hardly any, in the grand scheme of things, especially considering how little I knew about lockpicking. But I grit my teeth, and started working to pick the thing. 

I’d never had much practice. My mother had traded for one lockpicking book, years ago. But she had had to trade it back for food before I’d been able to finish reading it in the dim, red light of our shared room. Also, sometimes the trader of the bazaar, Smiling Jack, had brought me a stubborn lock for me to work on, when he hadn’t been able to get through them himself. I still wasn’t very good, despite this sparse practice. And if I blew this shot, I’d basically be signing my own death warrant. 

I worked slowly. With the first pin in, and the tip of my knife, I twisted my makeshift locking picking tools to the right. Slowly, slowly. The pressure grew and-far too soon-I felt a snap. I cursed under my breath. To the left, then. 

I tried to dry my sweaty palms on my undershirt and began again. Twisting the pin left, left, even slower than before. I was getting close, I could feel the lock beginning to give in. I was about to coax the lock open when a drop of sweat fell out of my hair, stinging my eye. I blinked, and the smallest jerk of my hand snapped the second pin. 

I fought the urge to scream at the futility of the situation. I had only one more chance. 

I took a short break. I paced around the small site and dried my hands and face well with my shirt. I drank the last of the water bottle to fight off my building headache. There was no room for mistakes. 

Then, I took up station in front of the box. I looked at the last pin, and prayed. Prayed for mercy and for grace. 

I put the pin into the lock. 

Left….left...only as far as the pin had been before. I paused, took a deep breath in, and turned the pin again. 

Click. 

The box sprung open, and I let out my breath. 

I had done it. 

But this was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Just dropping in to say that I am not giving up on this story. Not by a long shot. In fact, I'm going to edit the next chapter and try to get it up asap. I'll probably put more in that chapter's notes. 
> 
> Again, any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated! No joke, they make my entire day. So feel free to let me know what you think! :)


	5. Surviving This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis takes stock of his supplies, and makes his mark on the world.

Now that the box was open, I could really begin. 

Slowly, I took out everything in the box, and laid them out in a neat row.

A small knapsack. Two bottles of unfiltered water. One stimpack. Three cans of food. One box of macaroni. A 10 mm pistol and a box of 50 bullets. That, along with my knife, were my only weapons.

And, stuffed at the very bottom of the box was the best thing I’d seen all day. A full set of raider armor. The condition was terrible, and it was the armor given out to the lowliest of grunts. But it would offer some protection. And once I was in some real clothes, maybe I’d start feeling like a person again. 

I pulled on the brown and white outfit. Simple pants, with a dirty white shirt. Around my hips went a belt with pouches. I tucked away the gun on my right side and my knife on my left. Then, I dumped the rest of the survival gear into the bag. Taking it up, I looked around the site. 

Though I had slept here who knows how long, it didn’t feel right to call it a “campsite.” I hadn’t chosen it, I hadn’t set up a fire or some shelter. I didn’t feel the attachment to it I might have otherwise felt. But, still, I had survived something big here. There were those who didn’t survive Initiation. And I was certain that I had received a particularly brutal beating. Not to mention that I had managed the pick the lock and get at the supplies, something I doubted many of my raider “brothers” could have done. I was still surprised I had managed that. Though it was a bit twisted, I felt a sense of pride at what I had accomplished here, even though it wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things. 

I was gripped with the desire to leave my mark on this place. I wanted it here so that no matter what happened and where I went, there would be something to prove that this spineless group of raiders hadn’t been able to kill me. That no matter how much they had hated me, I had made it to eighteen. 

I looked around desperately. Then, I noticed some graffiti on the concrete base of the statue. Things like “Brick was here” and curses written all around it. It gave me an idea. 

Setting down my bag well within reach, I started scouring the ground. Finally, I found exactly what I was looking for: a rock that was larger and more jagged than any of its neighbors. I took it up, and then climbed the concrete base with some difficulty. After finding a couple of lucky handholds in the crumbling concrete, I was up. 

The statue was of three men wearing combat gear and brandishing weapons. If I could have had my way, I would have carved my message into one of the weapons, or maybe on a face. But there was no way I could make that climb, and time was already wasting. 

Instead, I walked up to the man in front. He seemed to me to be a leader of some kind. That would work for me.

I took the rock, and cut carefully into his leg. I had to go over the marks again and again to make sure that they showed. But, in the end, I was convinced that this at least would stand the test of time. 

Nodding quietly, I went back to the ledge and gently lowered myself down. My mark was made, and it was time to go. 

On the statue, up higher than most would be willing to go, was carved “Davis survived this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I know, two chapters in one day! I'm surprised, too. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry I took such a long break from this story. I hit a block trying to name the main character and get him through the next part of his journey. Luckily, I came up with a way to make that part more entertaining than it otherwise would have been. I'm very excited to write the next chapter, for sure. Though, before I do, I'm going to take out my copy of Fallout 3 and try to make the walk from the Anchorage War Memorial to the Mills with very little equipment, just to get a sense of what he's in for and what he'll pass. Mapping out the journey has been one of the more significant challenges I've had, because even though it's necessary for the story, it really isn't what the story is supposed to be about. I have a lot planned, and most of it is going to be much more character-driven in the future. 
> 
> We'll get more into that when he meets his new traveling campanion next chapter. (OOoohh~, foreshadowing.) 
> 
> Anyway, I've been talking forever. Thanks so much for reading, and let me know what you think! 
> 
> Tl;DR Thank you so much for reading! I'm working through a lot of plot stuff in the background, so please bear with me! And feedback would be greatly appreciated, and there is so much more interesting stuff coming, I promise! Thanks again for reading! :)


	6. New Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raider joins a group of traveling traders, and learns he's not the only one with a raider's past.

I had only been walking for about a half hour when I encountered the centaur. 

It was shambling, pink and grotesque. I had never seen one in real life. Sometimes, raiders coming back from the Wasteland would boast about killing them. They’d talk about the three tongues, the pained expressions, and how they pulled themselves forward using what looked like six normal arms, coming out of the bottom of the creature. 

I screamed. Nothing they could have told me could have prepared me for how awful the real thing was. It sensed me, then, and started moving towards me. 

I pulled out my gun. Though I only had fifty bullets, I had to get it down before it got to me. I couldn’t stomach the idea of it coming any closer. 

Bullet after bullet hit the thing, but my aim wasn’t as good as it should have been. My hands were shaking too hard. Bullets that I meant to send into the thing’s awful, gnarled torso instead hit its head, its arms, its tongues. I must have managed some damage to the thing’s awful head, because it stumbled back, clearly hurt. 

Click, click. My gun was out of bullets. 

I stepped back even more quickly, and tripped, ending up sprawled on my back. Then, the thing was upon me. Actually on me, swiping at me with its two front arms and remaining, intact tongues. I screamed again, a blood curdling sound of pure fear. I couldn’t die like this, not after everything my mother did to get me here. 

I pulled out my knife, the one that she had sent me off with. It was large, serrated, and the best quality it could be after years of tender attention and repairs. With a slice, I took off one of the remaining tongues. It fell to the ground, and kept writhing for a few, horrible seconds. 

Pressing the advantage, I braced my left arm against the thing, and kept slashing. Then, I stabbed into the softer flesh of its underbelly, and pulled the knife through. I could feel my knife moving through the awful flesh, causing real damage at last. But the awful thing was still struggling. 

Then, all of a sudden, it was thrown back. There was a gunshot wound in its head. Though it had no real eyes, just hollows where eyes should be, it seemed to be looking at me as it slumped down on me. It was heavy, and I wanted it off. 

“Hey, are you okay?” someone asked. It was a girl’s voice, strong and clear. 

I felt the centaur being pushed off of me. Once it was off, I could see the girl clearly. She looked Asian, with thick black hair pulled back into a bun. She had a kind face, and large brown eyes. She was wearing what looked like green mercenary armor. She smiled down at me for only a second, holding out her hand to help me. Then, her eyes darted down to my outfit, and her eyes widened. She jumped back, and pulled out a gun, pointing it right at me. 

“Whoa, he’s a raider!” she screamed. 

“Shoot him,” came a deep, male voice. The girl wasn’t alone. Behind her was a man wearing a full suit of metal armor and a helmet. He had just come up behind us, and had a minigun, but no clear shot of me with the girl in the way. 

“No, no wait!” I shouted. I put my hands up in surrender. “I’m not a raider.” 

The man laughed harshly. “You’re sitting there in raider gear, this close to downtown, and you really expect us to believe that? Becks, take the shot.” 

But the girl looked uncertain. She must have been around my age. Maybe she didn’t have a lot of experience killing people. Shooting a centaur is one thing, shooting someone at your mercy is another. She bit her lip, thinking. 

“We should wait for my dad to get here. I want to ask him what he thinks.” 

The man groaned. “If you move, I can do it myself.” 

“No!” she said. “I want to ask my dad. He’ll know what to do with this guy.” Her gun was still pointing at me, but her hands were shaking. Still, she stood her ground, not letting the masked man get to me. 

The man grumbled. Maybe he would have forced her to move, but then I heard another man’s voice. 

“Becca? Buck? What’s happening?” This man’s face was uncovered. The came up from behind, holding something. It seemed to be a makeshift weapon made out of a chainsaw. Strapped to his back was a huge combat shotgun. My blood ran cold with fear. 

He must have been the girl’s dad. He was also Asian, with a dark moustache and hair lining the bottom of his chin. His hair was slicked back, and his skin was darker than the girl’s, likely from a tan. One of his eyes was covered with a black eyepatch, and he was wearing armor that was similar to his daughter’s, but bulkier, as if he’d made a lot of repairs and additions over the years. 

“Dad,” said the girl. “I shot a centaur that was right on top of this guy. He was putting up a decent fight, but he wasn’t going to last much longer. Now, he says that he’s not a raider. But I don’t think we can believe him, can we?” Though her gun was pointed at me, she glanced once, guiltily at her father. It seemed that she didn’t feel good about condemning me, but thought that she had no choice. 

“Please, I’m really not a raider,” I said. My hands were still up, and I shifted ever so slightly so I was on my knees. The man whose face was covered, Buck, twitched at my movement, so I made sure to hold very, very still. “You have to let me explain. I’m a wanderer, and I was beaten almost to death by a group of raiders. They took my clothes, my supplies, everything. When I woke up, I found a raider’s dead body nearby. I took his clothes and supplies. I’m not a raider, I promise. I would never be a raider.” I said all this, looking the new man right in the eye. Part of this story was a lie, but I put the full force of the truth behind the parts that weren’t. 

The man stepped forward silently. Then, he bent down, one knee on the ground, so he could look at me even more closely. It felt like he was looking right into the core of me. It was like he could see my entire history, my fear, my weakness. 

Then, he said. “I don’t know what you are, boy, but you’re no killer. I can see it in your eyes.” He stood up with a grunt, pushing on his knee. I noticed that it was bound with black fabric. Maybe it had been injured recently? 

Then he said, “Becca, you can put your gun down. You were right not to shoot him, he’s no threat to anybody. Except maybe himself, all alone in the Wastes like this.” 

“It’s ‘Becks,’” she said quietly, but she holstered her gun, looking relieved. 

Then, the other man, Buck, piped up. “Grif, you can’t be serious! You’re going to let him go, just like that?” He sounded genuinely angry. 

“Yes, Buck,” said Grif. “Just like that. C’mon, guys. Let’s go. We have to get moving if we want to get to Girdershade by the end of the week.” 

My mind went into a flight of calculation. I’d been shown many maps of the Wasteland over the years. Really, any map my mom could get her hands on. She’d wanted me to know about the world for when I got out of the Mills. I knew the word, “Girdershade.” It was a tiny town just southwest of the mills. If there were going there, it’d be less than a day’s walk from there to the Mills. To my mom. 

The group was already walking away, towing behind them a brahmin I hadn’t noticed before while fighting for my life. I shouted, “Wait! Take me with you!” 

They stopped in their tracks. Buck said, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” and the girl, Becca or Becks or whatever she called herself, looked confused. They both turned to Grif. Clearly, he was the leader of the group. He looked at me, straight-faced. 

“You’re right,” I said, just looking at him. “I’m not going to survive out here on my own. I thought I could, but I can’t. I couldn’t even take out a centaur. But I’d be good in a group. You wouldn’t have to pay me. I’ll work for free. I can shoot, count, pick locks, and anything else you need. Please. Just take me to Girdershade, and I can make my way home from there.” 

Grif looked at me. “You know what you’re asking me, boy? You’re asking me to take someone I don’t know or trust with my family. These are my people, and I have to protect them. They’re my priority. So why should I take you with us?” 

“Because I’ll do anything. Chain me up, tie me up, make me work all night, take all my food. I have cans of stew and mac and cheese. Make me take on all the worst jobs. I don’t care. I’m desperate. That’s all I can say.” 

Again, that penetrating stare. This time, it wasn’t as neutral as before. It had a tinge of anger, as if he couldn’t believe my daring. Truth be told, I could hardly believe it, myself. But, even through the anger, there also seemed to be a touch of respect. Like he kind of liked my daring. 

After an agonizing pause he nodded and said, “Alright, you can come with us.” 

“Grif, think about what you’re doing,” said Buck. “Even if he’s not raider scum, we don’t know what he might try doing. What if he turns on us at night?” 

“Buck, remember what you were doing when we picked you up? If you believed in second chances then, you better believe in them now. This kid wants a chance, that’s all. Let’s give it to him. Besides, I’m not stupid enough to skleep next to him unguarded. Tonight, me and you will split the watch. Becca, I know you’re good with a gun, but I’m not going to ask you to guard him alone.” 

“I could take him,” said Becca, looking at me. She wasn’t saying it like she’d go out of her way to fight me, but like it was something fun she might consider doing. 

“I bet you could, but I won’t make you,” he said. Then, he turned to me. “Now, kid, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to stop for lunch, and try to whip something up with those cans you have. Then, we’re heading down to Girdershade to meet up with the rest of our group. You can tag along as far as you want, but everyone in the caravan works, you understand? That means cleaning guns, shooting, hunting,--heck--even sharing stories. If we say ‘jump,’ I expect those feet in the air, you understand?” 

“Yes, sir,” I said. I had never in my life called anyone a “sir,” but I was so relieved to be along for the ride, it felt necessary. Even if Becks was giggling at me. 

“Alright,” he said. “Now, first thing, kid.” He turned, and rummaged around on the bags on his brahmin. Then, he turned around and threw some cheap, non-raider armor at me. “For pete’s sake, change out of that bloody raider gear. We’ll sell it for rags first chance we get. Or burn it at the campfire. Go change, and we’re leaving.” 

And, truth be told, I couldn’t have been more happy to lose my raider gear once and for all. 

After a quick lunch, we kept walking. Though I would have been more than willing to be tied or chained for a safe escort back to the Mill’s doorstep, I was relieved to be free. I walked behind Becca and Grif and in front of Buck and his minigun. He kept making comments to remind me that he’d be more than willing to pepper me with bullets if I tried anything. 

Speaking of bullets, they hadn’t outfitted me with a better gun. It would have been pretty foolish on their side if they had. But they had given me a healthy supply of ten millimeter bullets. So, even though my gun was weak, at least I could use it more freely. 

Over the course of the rest of the day, we bumped into several other enemies. There was a group of three super-mutants. From them, after a spirited gunfight, we picked up more guns and bullets. Grif reported that most of them were in decent enough condition to sell on, and Buck was thrilled to have a new source of parts for his own gun. We put everything we couldn’t carry on the back of Bessie, their brahmin. She was a deep red, and her two heads were friendly, trying sometimes to lick me when we stopped. 

However, they also made me carry pounds and pounds of gear. Buck happily reported that he’d rather have me tired than Bessie, because he knew where her loyalties lay. I swallowed any complaints, and took everything they handed me. It was all worth it for a chance to survive. 

Finally, somewhere south of Megaton, we stopped for the night. Apparently, they had already traded there recently, and would hit the next them they went out trading. They told me they preferred to camp when they could, to save money. 

Grif assigned jobs. “Becca, go with Buck and collect firewood. Buck, keep an eye out for raiders. This area is lousy with them, and if you can take some down, well, that’s just more to trade.” 

“With pleasure,” said Buck, smirking at me. He’d taken off his helmet when we got into camp, revealing that he was caucaisian with messy, brown hair and stubble all across his face. Even though I’d been on my best behavior all day, he clearly still thought of me as “raider scum.” But I guess that he wasn’t the one I had to impress. 

Then, Grif turned to me. “And you, kid. I want to keep an eye on you. And, help you learn a thing or two about shooting. We’re going hunting.” 

Leaving Buck and Becca to set up camp and scour the nearby area for wood to burn, me and Grif headed in a random direction into the Wasteland. I had my small pistol at the ready. 

“Now, kid,” Grif said. “I know you kept that centaur off of you long enough to survive. That’s not nothing. But if you had chosen your shots more carefully, you wouldn’t have had too. If you’re going to make it in the Wasteland, you’re going to have to make every bullet count.” Then, his hand shot out in front of me, halting me in my tracks. He crouched quietly, motioning for me to do the same. Then, in the distance, I saw what he was looking at. A yao guai, a huge, misshapen and mutated bear. My breath caught in my throat. It hadn’t sensed us yet, but it was only a matter of time.  
Grif looked at me, putting a finger to his lips in a “shh” gesture. Then, he mouthed, “Like this.” 

Then, he pulled out his rifle, and shots rang out. 

The first bullet hit its eye. The other hit his nose. Enraged, it roared, and turned toward us. It started running, faster than I could have believed. I pulled out my own gun. Before, in my fear, I would have shot at it indiscriminately, not even bothering to use my sight. But, I remembered what Grif had told me. 

I took a breath, and sighted down the barrel of my gun, aiming for the head. I shot it at least ten times, but it was Grif’s decisive shot to the throat that took it down. 

He whistled between his teeth. “Not bad, kid. Now, that pea-shooter of yours didn’t do much damage, but your aim was true. That’s more important. Once you get a real gun in your hand, you’ll do fine. Now, c’mon. Let’s gut and get the meat of this thing. I’m not dragging this whole thing back to camp.” 

We set to work. It turned out that Grif used the chainsaw tool mostly to cut up animals they hunted. That had been what he’d been doing while Buck and Becks had found me. He was the best in the group at cutting up the meat, he said, and he’d been getting some off a Mirelurk they’d just taken down. The rest of the time, it stayed on his back. Except of course, “in a pinch.” I assumed that meant when he was cornered. And, man, watching him go to town on the yao guai, I pitied the man who cornered him. 

As we worked, we made small talk. It took almost an hour, in the end, even with the quick work of Grif’s hands. We talked about the past, mostly. I made sure to keep everything vague. I mentioned only that my mother had raised me, and that she was the one I was going to see. I said that I’d been separated from her, which was true enough. He didn’t tell me much, either. Just about his time working as a trader, and how this was the first trip he’d taken Becca on. She’d been begging since she was about three to be on the road, and wanted to make a name for herself on the road. 

“That’s the only reason I can figure for that nickname of her’s,” he said with a fond shake of his head. “I think she thinks it makes her sound like a badass, having an ‘s’ at the end of her name.” He chuckled, and my chest pinched. I missed making my mom laugh like that. It seemed that sometimes, after particularly hard days, I was the only one who could. 

I was lost in thoughts like these, when his next words jolted me back to reality. 

“So,” he said. “Where are you going, really? Back to the raiders, I assume.” 

“W-what?” I asked. My heart started pounding. “I told you, I’m not a raider!” 

Grif looked at me, long and steady. “Boy, you never thought that I bought that cock and bull story about you finding a dead raider and just putting on his armor, did you? Everyone in the Wastes knows what those clothes mean, and they mean loyalty.” 

I took a quick step back, “Look, Grif, it’s not like that.” 

He waved for me to sit back down. “I know, kid. Sit down. I’m not about to shoot you or anything.” He didn’t reach for his gun, or the knife holstered at his side. He just looked tired and sad.  
I sat. 

“The reason I took you in with us is because you had the look of someone trying to get out of the gang life. And, frankly, you didn’t look like much of a threat,” he sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just getting soft in my old age. But I know how hard it is to get out first-hand, and I wanted to help you.” 

“You...used to be a raider?” I asked. 

He nodded, paused. “Yeah. But then Becca’s mom happened. And then Becca happened. And, well, I knew I had to get clean. Becca’s mom had friends in Megaton. So, that’s where we went. I visited the Doc there. Of course, I couldn’t afford the treatment to get rid of my addictions with medicine. So, he strapped me down to one of his beds for a week. It was hands down the worst week of my life. I was given food and water but nothing else. None of the things I really craved. But when I remembered the life that was waiting for me after it was over, I clamped my mouth shut and took it. 

“I was a different man when they untied me, but not a perfect man. I know what you must be feeling. The immense temptation to go back. Because, somehow, that seems easier. It’s so easy to think that all your hardships won’t be waiting for you there. But they are. I promise you that.” His eyes, which had grown foggy with memory, sharpened. 

“I have to tell you. The raiders will always try to drag you down. They’re just like mirelurks in a bucket. When they see people leave and make something of themselves, it shames them. They want to think that once you’re in, there’s no way out. That way, they don’t have to feel guilty that they never even try. So they will do anything to pull you down, keep them in that bucket with them. You shouldn’t even give them the opportunity. 

“You remind me of me, back then. So, I want to help you get out. Be the friend that I didn’t have back then. You can stay with the caravan. You did some decent work, and I’m sure we can find a use for a smart lad like you. Only rule is, you have to be ready to really leave all of it, for good.” He fixed me with such an intense look that I knew that if I tried to lie, he’d see right through me. Besides, I didn’t want to lie. 

I swallowed around my dry throat. “Grif, you have to understand. It’s...it’s my mom.” 

His eyes softened. “Oh, kid,” he said. “She’s why you’re going back, isn’t she? You’re going to try to get her out.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded anyway. 

He continued, looking like he was choosing his words carefully, like a was a mine he was trying to diffuse. “Do you think you’ll be able to? Sometimes, it’s all you can do to get out yourself, and even if you love them, you can’t bring everyone you want with you.” 

“I know,” I said. “I know that. But she’s my mom. And she’s the only reason I got this far in the first place. This was her plan. She wants me to meet with a trader, Smiling Jack, near the Mills. About an hour away from the Mills. It was the most she could get him to agree to. He’s supposed to give me supplies for the rest of the journey. Then, she wants me to head up to Canterbury to meet my dad. She wants me to leave her, but I don’t think I can. I don’t think that I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try.” 

It seemed like I had just placed yet another weight on Grif. He was already carrying the well-being of his group, his only daughter, and the past he’d told me about. Not to mention the fact that I still didn’t know what had happened to Becca’s mom. I felt awful to add anything to the burden of a man like him, but I had no choice. 

“I know, son. I know. I know I’ve been calling you ‘kid’ a lot, but I know you’re an adult. And it’s ultimately your choice to make. But, let me just tell you one thing before you head back in.” He fixed me with his steady gaze. 

“I know better than anybody that it takes multiple tries to get out. Lord, don’t I know it,” he shook his head again, head bowed. “That’s why, I’m going to go ahead and keep my offer open. If you somehow pull a miracle and get out again with that mom of yours, and you find the caravan, we’ll take care of you. It’s the least I can do, for someone trying to make something of himself. As long as you come back willing to leave it all behind. And I won’t mention this to the other’s. Buck’s a good guy, really. But, well, as you can see, he has problems trusting.” 

My eyes welled up. When was the last time someone had been so open and generous to me? But because this is the Wasteland, and you can’t be seen crying, I roughly dried my tears with the back of my hand. 

“Thanks,” I said. “I mean it.” 

He nodded. With a grunt of effort, he got to his feet, and reached down to pull me up. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get this meat back to Buck. He might not look it, but he’s quite the chef with the right ingredients.” 

Grif was right. Once we got the yao guai in his hands, Buck worked away quietly on it, even using seasoning tucked away in one of the bags. He cut the huge chunks of meat into steaks and then began roasting them over the fire. We sat around it in a circle. Becks was working away, cleaning her prized rifle with her tongue in between her teeth. I wasn’t sure if this was more a chore or a hobby, based on the way she lovingly tested it, unloaded, to make sure everything was working correctly. 

“Dad,” she said. “I think I’m going to need new parts soon. Something is sticking when I try to reload.” 

“Sure thing, sweetie. We’ll be on the lookout next time we’re in town, how’s bout that?” he asked. She beamed, and stood to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Thanks, dad!” she said. Then, she wandered off toward Bessie, apparently to get something from her bulging saddlebags. 

I realized that I was staring, and looked away. My chest squeezed with jealousy. I must be missing my mom even more than I had thought. 

Buck started to pass out our steaks. I noticed mine was a bit smaller than the others, but that was fine. I was so hungry, I would have been grateful for anything. When I bit it, the meat was well-cooked and juicy. Some of the burning juices dripped down my chin, but I didn’t care. Soon, the whole thing was gone, and I was full for the first time in days. 

After we were done eating, Becks came back with the thing she had been retrieving. An old, bulky radio. She heaved it down onto the ground next to her, and started fiddling around with the nob, tongue back in between her teeth. I kept catching her doing that. 

Grif was looking at me with a soft smile on his face. He was whittling away at a stick with his knife, and said, “You’ll have to excuse us, carrying a big, old radio around. It’s our only luxury when we’re out on these trips, and Bessie doesn’t mind. Huh, Bessie?” He turned his head to look back at the Brahmin. One of her heads was chewing her cud. The other was grazing. Both moo’d loudly, as if to confirm what he was saying.

“Yes!” Becca said, pumping her fist. “Galaxy News Radio is back on the air!” 

“What’s Galaxy News Radio?” I asked, feeling like a complete idiot. 

She waved at me to stop talking and hushed me sharply. “Hush! Three Dog is going to make a live report!” 

I wanted to ask who that was, but when I moved to speak, she shot me a look and I stopped in my tracks. She turned up the volume dial on the radio, and we listened to the report. 

“Hello there children! This is Threeeeeeeee Dooooog coming to you loud and proud, AAAWOO! How y’all doing? Terrible? Horrible? Dying of radiation poisoning? Man, aren’t we all? Well, I just might have a report that can soothe even the most troubled of souls out there in the Wasteland tonight, courtesy of the one and only Lone Wanderer.” 

Even though his jokes seemed lame, Becca chuckled. She seemed more lit up and happy than she’d been this entire journey. 

“Who’s the Lone Wanderer?” I began to say, but before I could get out the whole question, she shushed me sharply, waving her arm impatiently to get me to stop talking. Her entire being seemed to be leaning into the radio’s waves like they were the breeze in her sails. 

Three Dog continued, “When we last heard from the Lone Wanderer, she was still on her way to find her dad. But now, it seems like she’s made a detour. She took out time from her busy schedule of saving all our asses to get a sweet old lady her violin back. Aw. Now how’s that for a feel-good news story? Word on the street is that the lady, her name is Agatha, can be heard playing sweet tunes for all the Wastes to hear on the radio. Now, I’m not one to promote the competition, but I think that I can make an exception for sweet, old ladies. What can I say? I’m a softie. Besides, at least she’s not with the Enclave, amiright?” 

“So, if you’re listening, Lone Wanderer, thanks for bringing the joy of music back to the airwaves. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: You’re fighting the good fight.” His voice had taken on a more serious tone. I found myself leaning in, listening intently as he ended his broadcast. 

“That’s all for today childreeeen. This has been Threeeee-Dog, AWOOO! Thanks for listening.” With that, the station went back to playing the same cheery old-world music that I’d caught a few minutes of before the report. This song was about chopping up meat. It reminded me of watching Buck make dinner. Except, he didn’t have as much gusto as the song. 

Becca turned the volume down a bit, and leaned back. “That was a great story. I always love hearing what the Lone Wanderer is doing. It makes everything seem better, knowing she’s out there. Do you know what I mean?” She looked up at me, and I was struck by how kind she was being. It made me feel even more guilty for leaving. I asked her then, who the Lone Wanderer is.  
“You don’t know who the Lone Wanderer is?” she asked, eyes wide. “What, have you been living under a rock?” 

I didn’t want to say it, but yes, I technically had. 

“She’s the hero of the wastes! You should hear the stories about her!” Then, she went on to tell a lot of them herself, with Grif and Buck jumping in to fill in details she forgot. They heard a lot, traveling like they did. The Lone Wanderer, a nineteen-year-old girl from a vault, was apparently someone who walked the Wasteland, saving people and looking for her dad. People were whispering that things were really starting to change because of her. And it seemed that Becca was her biggest fan. 

Finally, Grif stopped her after she’d told a story about how she’d saved some place called “Big Town” from super mutants, and said it was time for him to take first watch. 

“Get some sleep, everybody. We all have a big day ahead of us. We should get to Girdershade by nightfall.” He was looking at me. 

I laid down, and stared up at the stars until sleep captured me. Tomorrow, I’d have to split from this group that already felt like family. But I knew what I had to do. 

I had to find my mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm super happy to get this up. My new goal is going to be to post every Thursday, since I have a great place to write on Wednesdays. 
> 
> This story is super fun, and I'm happy that it's starting to come together. These characters saved this chapter from it being about the main character's lonely trek through the Wasteland. I want to thank them for that. They popped into my head, fully formed a few days ago, and I was happy to run with them. 
> 
> I'm working on this story almost every day, and I have most of the plot mapped out. I also have a chapter with backstory about the main character's origins already pretty much fully written, and I'm very proud of it. I'm excited to share it with you all! 
> 
> Speaking of sharing, I'd really appreciate it if anyone wants to share this story! It's finally becoming what I always thought it could be, and it's some of my best work yet. At the same time, I know it's FAR from perfect, so as always, I welcome any feedback! Thanks again to anyone who's been reading or dropped a kudos. You guys make me excited to keep writing. Thanks again!


	7. The Fall of the Mills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom heads back home, and is horrified by what he finds there.

In a state halfway between sleeping and awake, I was barraged with tortured images flashing against the insides of my eyelids. Some of my mother’s clients. The Mills. The red eyes of the Super Mutant Behemoth, looking right at me. The crack of gunfire in the Wastes. Two men fighting on one of the Mill’s rickety walkways. One man pushes, and the other falls. A scream… 

I sat up, shaky and sweating. 

“Nightmare?” Buck askes. He’s sharpening a knife. I jolt, and clutch my chest. 

He laughs. “Damn, kid. You’re jumpy. You’ll have to cut that out one of these days, if you want to make it in the Wastes.” 

My breathing evened. I remembered where I was. I was with Grif’s Caravan. Grif was sleeping, sitting up, leaning against Bessies, who was leaning her heads on her forelegs. Grif’s arms were crossed in front of him, and he looked as thought he’d been watching the camp as long as he could before he fell asleep. Becks was sleeping on her side next to him, using a balled-up cloth bag as a pillow. She was still wearing her armor, but Grif must have put his jacket over her as she slept to keep her warm. It was a nice looking brown long coat, and she was sleeping soundly under it. 

The fire was long dead, no longer giving of heat. We would have to bury the embers before we broke camp in the morning. Which reminded me. 

“What time is it?” I asked Buck. My head was pounding. I pressed the heels of my hands into my burning forehead. I hadn’t slept peacefully. I dreaded breaking camp, and I dreaded heading back into the Mill even more. 

“It’s almost morning,” Buck said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t bother going back to sleep. It wouldn’t be worth it,” he held up his knife in the weak pre-dawn light. He seemed satisfied with his work. He wiped the knife against the fabric of his pant leg. 

“Okay,” I said. Besides, I didn’t want to plunge back into my awful dream. I got up fully. 

Buck holstered his knife. “Now, kid, I know that I gave you a hard time yesterday. I’m not going to tell you I’m sorry, because I’m not. But I want to give you a piece of advice.” He sounded genuine. I decided to give him a chance. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“You should take Grif up on his offer,” he said. “You aren’t going to get a better deal in the Wastes anytime soon.” He looked at me, serious. 

A pause. “Grif told you about his offer?” I asked. 

He nodded, and tipped some dirt over the embers with his black boot. “Yep. When we switched watch in the middle of the night.” 

I swallowed the bitter taste at the back of my throat. “And did he ask you to try to convince me?” I asked. I’d spend my whole life saying “no” to raiders. Money-making schemes, horrible job offers, scams: you name it, I rejected it. It was the main reason they all hated me so much. My mother had known how to turn them down, and she’d taught me well. But then, just like this, someone’s underling would come crawling the next day to ask the same thing in a different way. Even though Grif and Buck were just trying to help me, I hardened myself against them. I didn’t need this again. 

“No,” said Buck. “He didn’t.” My mouth dropped open. I closed it, hoping he hadn’t seen. “Grif even asked me not to bring it up with you. Said you had to make your own decision. And yeah, he’s right. I just want you to know what you’re giving up. That’s all.” 

“And what’s that?” I asked. 

“A second chance,” he said. “And those are rare enough in the Wasteland. Make sure you’re sure, kid. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“I have my reasons, Buck,” I said. 

He brought his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, I’m sure you do. Always loads of good reasons out her in the Wastes. You have yours. That’s all I need to know. Just...wanted to talk to you about it. That’s all.” 

He stood then. “Sun’s rising. We should wake up the others. We need to get moving.” 

The group hardly talked that day as we continued to trudge our way west. The weight of my departure was looming over me. Grif didn’t seem too happy, either. It seemed like he might have worked out where I was going. As a former raider, it was sure that he knew all the hotspots of raider activity. The Mills was the largest and the worst. And we were heading right toward it. 

Around mid-morning, Becca jogged up to walk next to me. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, brown eyes wide. 

“Just nervous,” I said. 

“About what?” she asked. Her head tilted to one side for a second. Her wide, brown eyes looked into mine earnestly. In the Wastes, people tended to keep to their own business. It was strange to meet someone so inquisitive. 

I kicked at a rusty can. It skittered away, hitting a trash can with a hollow sound. “Oh, you know. Everything.” 

She laughed. “Man, I know what you mean. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I know that I had it pretty sweet, compared to a lot of other people. I had dad, enough food growing up, and a roof over my head. Really, I’m lucky. But being a teenager out here is hard, no matter who you are,” she squinted up at the bright sky, looking for her next words. “It’s like, you don’t just get to be a kid, you don’t just get to grow up. You have to learn how to survive. I read these stories about how the world used to be. Did you know kids our age would just be dating, going to school, deciding what they want to be?” She looked at me, and blushed. “Sorry, I’m blabbering. It’s just, I don’t often get to talk to anyone but adults and little kids.” 

“No,” I said. “I completely know what you mean. Like, there’s all this pressure about who you’re supposed to be. There’s no room to breathe. No room to figure out what we want.” 

“Exactly!” she said loudly. 

“Becks, keep it down,” said Buck. “I don’t know what y’all are talking about, but get any louder and we’ll have every mercenary in a three-block radius breathing down our necks.” Indeed, he had taken out a rifle, and seemed to be looking around for targets. 

“Sorry,” she mouthed at him. I don’t know how, given that he was probably too far away to be able to read her lips, but he seemed to get the message. He nodded. 

“I guess that all I’m saying is that, I know it’s hard. And I don’t want to pry, but I assume that you’ve had it a lot harder than I have. I think you’re brave, going back,” she said. 

“Really?” I asked. “‘Cause I feel like a giant idiot.” 

She smiled slightly. “Maybe. But, hey, I think family makes us all a little bit stupid, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I said with a hollow laugh. 

We only met one group that day. Three traders heading the other way. Since me and Becca weren’t a part of formal trading yet, we were turned loose for a bit to get lunch started. We wandered away from the group. Grif was talking casually with the traders, arms crossed against his chest. Buck wasn’t even looking in their direction, instead focusing on the road behind us and drinking from a canteen. The leader of the other group was talking, one hand on her hip. Her face was covered, and she seemed relatively disinterested. I knew enough from watching traders in the Mills to know what was happening. They would talk about other things, meander on to business, and make deals, acting all the time like they didn’t care much about the outcome. This was going to take a while. 

Becks was pulling on Bessie's lead. We stayed within sight, but found a convenient place to eat. It had benches and everything. She took a pack off of Bessie’s back, muttering “Good girl, take a rest, Bessie.” Bessie complied, closing her eyes on both heads for a standing nap. 

“We keep our dry goods in this bag,” she said. She set it down, and started taking things out. “We try not to dip too much into the food when we’re traveling. Saves money if we can catch and scavenge our own food, and we sell all our extras. But, of course, there isn’t much at all to find on this part of the route, dad says.” 

“I noticed that,” I said. “It’s been empty since Megaton.” 

She nodded, and started a small fire. She was going to boil up a couple boxes of macaroni. Not a bad meal. 

“Do you need help?” I asked. “I can help heat up a can or two. I’m sure everyone is going to be hungry, after all that walking the past two days.” 

She smiled, and thanked me. I set to work, and she got up to turn on the radio. She didn’t even take it off Bessie’s back. Music washed over us as we worked. 

Then, suddenly, the music cut off, and the announcer, Three Dog, started speaking. Becca smiled broadly at me. I found myself smiling back. 

“Hello there, childreeeeeen! This is Threeeee Dooooog, AWOOOOO! 

“Now, as much as I wish I could give you a nice update about our Lone Wanderer, she hasn’t been seen much recently. Who knows? Maybe she finally found her dad. Your’s truly might have had a hand in pointing her in the right direction. I don’t mean to brag. Actually, you know what? I’m bragging. There’s little enough to brag about these days. 

“Anyway, the Lone Wanderer isn’t what this report is about, for once. Instead, this is a safety bulletin. Some of my contacts have told me that there are rumors of a large raider’s keep west of Megaton. There have been sightings of raider activity in the region of Evergreen Mills. Be careful, children, if you’re in that region. We don’t need any more civilian fatalities. 

“That’s all for now, childreeen. Stay tuned for all the information you need about the Wastes. This has been Three Dog, Awooo!” 

Becca sighed. “Man, I know the safety bulletins are important, but I wish there was a new Lone Wanderer story! Hey, are you okay? You look...sick, or something.” 

I swallowed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I must just be hungry.” I shook my head, trying to clear it. It was horrible hearing the Mills being mentioned on the radio. It made it feel like I couldn’t escape my old life, even when I was just spending time with Becca cooking. I hated hearing about that part of my life. But this went beyond my discomfort. It was a bad sign if people were starting to notice the mills. That was the last thing we needed. Sure, the threat of the behemoth in the cage was enough to keep most people away, but if we got enough attention, then we might have the Brotherhood of Steel knocking on our door. And where would that leave my mom? 

I shook my head, and forced myself back into the moment. There was no room for daydreaming in the Wasteland, even when traveling with a group. Besides, there was no “we” anymore. I wasn’t a part of the Mills, and if I was able to get my mom out, then neither of us would be ever again. 

Then, we noticed that Buck and Grif were coming back. They must have finished trading. I put my worries to the back of my mind. It was time to eat. 

We kept walking for the rest of the day. Becks seemed to be in a good mood, despite the Lone Wanderer not being spotted recently. Buck was looking forward to meeting the rest of their group. He said that he’d had enough of the road for a long time. Grif was the only one who stayed completely to himself, clutching his combat shotgun close to his chest. I caught him giving me a concerned glance once or twice, but I didn’t try to strike up a conversation. I had no idea what to say. 

Finally, we stopped for a water break, and Grif decided to speak. 

“Alright, guys. Normally, we’d stop to set up camp right about now. But we’re only an hour or two away from Girdershade. Are you up for the walk?” 

Buck nodded, and Becks boldly said, “I could eat that walk for breakfast!” 

Grif chuckled slightly, and then turned to me. “Kid, what about you? Are you coming, or going?” 

I swallowed. My throat was so dry, it hurt. “I should get going,” I said, trying to sound more grown up and confident than I really was. 

Becca’s eyes widened, and her eyebrows shot up. “Already?” she asked. Buck was standing beside her, arms crossed over his chest. But even he didn’t seem happy about me leaving.  
“Yeah,” I said. “My mom is northeast of here. I want to meet up with her asap. I mean, she’s my mom.” I trailed off. 

Buck closed his eyes and nodded. Becca bit her lip and did the same. “Okay….Good luck finding her!” she said. She jumped up and threw her arms around me. Bemused, I hugged her back. 

I smiled. “Thanks, Becks. That means a lot to me.” 

Buck reached out a hand, and gave me a firm handshake, clutching my forearm. “Yeah, good luck out there, kid. You’re alright.” 

Then, I turned to Grif. He was the only one who really understood where I came from, and where I was going. It was going to be hardest to say goodbye to him. 

“Thanks for everything, Grif,” I said. I reached out my hand to shake. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.” 

He took my hand, and gave it a good shake. “It was no problem, kid. Though, I was wondering one thing. I want to get your name, before you go. My offer is still on the table, and I want to know your name. That way, if you meet other members of our caravan, they’ll know to help you.” 

I nodded. “Thomas Davis,” I said. “I go by Tom. My mom wanted me to have a normal name. She said that I’d have it hard enough without a strange name.” I smiled, slightly apologetically. In a world of “Crazy Wolfgang”’s and “Three Dog”’s, I was a bit of an outlier. 

Indeed, Buck looked amused at this admission, but Grif just smiled. “That’s a fine name, Tom. Good luck out there.” 

“Thanks,” I said. Then, I shifted my pack to sit more squarely on my back. Looking at each of them in turn, I smiled and waved goodbye. They nodded, and started walking in the other direction. Then, I pointed myself towards the Mills. 

It was time to get home. 

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. It was early the next day, and I was standing at the entrance to the Mills. It was a small, thin canyon, always manned and boobytrapped. The mines that normally lined the ground were missing. The guards were gone. 

I started running inside. 

Above the thin canyon path was a walkway where guards patrolled. On it, were two bodies, without their armor. 

My heart started pounding and my head went blank. I ran in faster, even though I should have been running away. 

As I went into the center of the Mills, I saw that there were even more dead bodies. Raiders, all of them. Who could have done this? Was it the Brotherhood? Had that report driven them to our doorstep? Did they care enough to save the people of the Wastes from the raiders? 

And, sure enough, people had been saved. The gates to the slave pen were open. Most of them were gone. They’d probably long since run about into the Wasteland. One or two had stayed, clearly too broken and afraid to even think of running. One of them, a woman wearing dirty rags, cringed as I passed. 

Without thinking, I shouted. “Run! Get out of here!” I waved my arms widely. Then, I kept going. 

What I saw next knocked the breath out of me. It was the giant corpse of the Super Mutant Behemoth. It was the size of a medium sized building, and it was on its side. Its dead eyes seemed to be staring at me. I stopped in my tracks, turned to the left and vomited. There was something so wrong about seeing it out of its pen, dead. This meant that nothing in the Mills would ever be the same again. Without him, there would be nothing for the raiders to base their power on. 

It was over. 

Which meant my mother was likely dead. 

I kept taking shaky steps into the Mills. I should have been on the lookout for surviving raiders. Any that saw me would probably have killed me on sight. While they’d been attacked, I’d been missing. I was also wearing armor from the outside. If any of them had seen me, I would have been a target on-sight.

But there were no survivors. That, or any survivors had long since left or hidden in one of the many wooden huts lining the edges of the cliffs. I didn’t care. 

First, I headed into the building that led into the underground cave that held the bazaar. Inside were even more dead raiders. And huge bullet marks on the walls. I passed through the door into the Bazaar, only thinking of my mother. Only thinking of how badly I had to see her. There was a part of me that would only believe she was dead if I saw her with my own eyes. So, I kept going.  
I ran up the rickety wooden walkways that lead to the top of the cavern, to the small rooms that held the brothel. I was weak and wobbly on my feet. 

When I was about halfway there, someone said, “Whoa, kid, I don’t think you should go up there. I don’t think you’ll like what you see.” 

I jumped. Then, I turned to look at the man talking to me. 

It was Smiling Jack. He was standing in the entrance to the cave that housed his shop, halfway between the bottom and top of the cavern. He was wearing his normal gear, and seemed to be packing up his scant belongings. He looked just the same, with his weathered face, long dirty brass-colored mustache and trader gear. Jack was the only one in the Mills allowed to wear something other than raider gear during the day, since he was their main supplier of booze and drugs. In fact, he claimed that he wasn’t a raider at all. Maybe that’s why he’d survived. 

“My mother,” I said. “Is she alive?” 

He let out a sigh. “I haven’t checked. The Lone Wanderer just left. She was the one who did this. I only just talked my way out of being killed. But, kid, I don’t think anyone else did. I’m sorry.”  
My legs almost gave out. I retched over the side of the railing, but my stomach was empty. He stood there, waiting for me to be done. 

When I was, I wiped my chin with the back of my hand. 

“I have to see her,” I said. 

“Kid….” he said. “I really don’t think that you want to see her like that…” 

“What do you care?” I asked. “When have you ever looked out for me? You only care about my mom’s money.” And it was true. My whole childhood, he had been friendly to whoever was giving him money at any given time. Sometimes that was my small family, but most often it was groups of raiders buying his drinks and drugs. In the Mills, you quickly learned that Smiling Jack only really looked out for himself, but I’d never called him out on it. Until now. 

He seemed to brush this off. “Fine,” he said. “But when you’re done, meet me outside. We have to talk about what happens next. And I’m thinking you’re going to need a strong beer when you’re done.” 

In the end, I did head up to the brothel. I saw my mom. She was dead. I closed her eyes, and looked down at her. With her dyed purple hair and home-made makeup, she’d always tried to look young. Now, she looked like she was sleeping. 

I bent down, and carefully picked her up. I put her in the bed we’d shared for many years when I was growing up, before we’d been able to scavenge a second bed. This room had been all we’d had. Now, it was all gone. 

I also laid out the other girls in their beds, as well as our one male prostitute. Life had been hard for them, as well, as I knew only too well. They also deserved their rest.  
When they all looked like they were just asleep, I took one last look at my mother. 

Then, I left. But not before lighting the whole place up with a frag grenade. 

I did find Smiling Jack outside. And, sure enough, he had a beer ready for me. 

“You know me, kid. I never give out freebies. But today...today is special. Call it a late birthday gift.” 

We were sitting in front of the huge chain-link fence that used to be electrified to keep in the beast. 

“Smiling Jack, do you know what happened?” I asked. I gestured at the cage, and took another sip of my beer. It was the only thing keeping me braced.  
He took another breath. “Yeah, I think I have a pretty good idea. She talked to me for a while, the Lone Wanderer. I think she was mulling over if she should kill me, too.”  
My face burned with anger. How on earth had she chosen this man to live over my mother? I took another drink to try to stay cool. I needed the story. 

“What she did was, she has this scoped .44 Magnum she calls ‘Blackhawk.’ Says she got it off an old lady. Well, the thing is accurate. Dead accurate, apparently. When she found the Mills, she stood on a cliff over there,” he pointed to the east. “From there, she was planning on just picking off every raider she could see. But then, she saw the electrical grid the raiders used to power the electric fence. She said it was too perfect, with her perched up there, safe from the Behemoth. She shot out the grid. 

“People went crazy, as you can imagine. In my time, the grid’s only gone down twice. Once when we were first setting up the damn thing, and another time with these two punks I was helping escape. But that’s another story.” 

He shook his head. “Well, anyway, since it had happened before, we had some idea what to do. All get together and force the thing back. It’s been trained to be scared of us, in its cage. Of course, I wasn’t there for any of this. I was still in my cave. But I did see people coming in to tell us, and loads more rushing out of the Bazaar in droves to help.” 

“You should have helped,” I said. 

“That’s not my place, kid. I’m no raider, just like you’re not. Would you have gone out to help? I doubt it. You would have stuck with your mom, and I wouldn’t blame you.” 

“You could have saved her,” I said. I wanted so badly to be angry at someone, anyone. And I wanted it to be Jack. I squeezed tight on the beer in my hands. 

“No, kid. I couldn’t have. Even if I tried. Let me finish the story.” 

I didn’t have any fight left in me. “Fine.” 

“Well, the Lone Wanderer used that gun of hers to start picking people off. One or two shots, starting with those on the outside that no one could see. She had taken too many down before people even started noticing they were being rained down with bullets. Then, she headed down the side of the cliff, where it was slightly more level. By then, most of the raiders who had come out were dead by her hand or the Behemoth’s club. It was also pretty weak by then. She hopped into the compound, onto a roof. She was out of its reach, and she killed it from there. 

“At that point, we were severely weakened, running around like an ants’ nest that had been stepped on. But we still weren’t defenseless. You know as well as anyone what a raider can do when they’re angry and hopped up on Psycho. But she mowed them all down. One after another,” he shivered, took a drink. “She unlocked the slave pens, and headed into the cavern. She moved through the whole thing, killing every raider she could find, even in the wooden huts along the edges of the cliffs. By the time she got to me, everyone else was dead. I had known that there was no chance of escape. So I tried to talk her down. I managed it, somehow. But she did take most of my stuff. Including my combat shotgun. Said that I was almost as bad as the rest, but that she’d give me a second chance. What a load of shit. 

“Anyway, I couldn’t have stopped her. No one could have.” 

“What about Butch?” I asked. 

“Dead. It happened right in front of my shop, in fact. He was dosed up on about five servings of med-x and Psycho, and she just shot him down. I’m telling you, kid. None of us could have stopped this. Not me, not you, not your mom. So, let’s lay the blame where it belongs, okay?” 

“The Lone Wanderer,” I said, monotone. 

“Yep,” he replied. “Her.” He tilted the bottle back, going for the last dregs of it. 

“My mother is dead,” I said. I was numb. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t possibly be real. 

“Welcome to the Wasteland, kid,” said Smiling Jack. He put down his bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! This one was a doozy to write. One day, I just had to sit down and force my main character through it. 
> 
> This chapter was a big part of the reason that I've always wanted to tell this story. I love playing the Lone Wanderer with good karma. I love seeing the ways that the Wasteland improves as you help those who really need it. But when I started thinking about telling a story about a good raider, I had to face the fact that acts like clearing out the Mills could be destroying families, and really messing up the lives of people who aren't really evil. These are concepts that are better addressed in New Vegas, but I still love Three, and I wanted to explore them, no punches pulled. 
> 
> So, yeah. This one was hard to write. And, honestly, harder to stop. Finding a place that is a decent stopping point without just falling into the next part of the story was VERY difficult. But I think that I managed it. 
> 
> Again, I am so happy whenever I see someone's read this story. Kudos make my day, and I'm always happy to know people are reading and enjoying this story that's been rattling in my brain so long. As always, I welcome freedback and constructive criticism. I want to become a better writer, and any feedback would be greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> Oh, and one last thing. Three Dog, in the game, does have a news report about the Mills and how its full of raiders. (Transcript linked here: https://bit.ly/31UCJqk ). I made sure to read it and make sure that it was completely re-written for this story. Just assume that he made that report earlier, when it was only a rumor. The report in this chapter was made after, when some of his contacts have confirmed the rumors.


	8. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to leave.

Smiling Jack set down the now-empty bottle. “Alright, kid. Here’s what’s going to happen next.” 

He rose, and picked up one of the bags that he had dragged out of the bazaar with him. It was a beige burlap sack, two feet high and full to the brim. The thin, woven twine tyings at the top were fighting against the strain of keeping the bag shut. Jack tossed it to my feet. 

“What’s that?” I asked impassively. 

He snorted. “What do you think? These are all the supplies your mom bought over the years and put on layaway for your ‘escape to the Wastes,’” he said this last thing derisively, as if the Wastes would be the last place anyone would want to escape to. 

I looked at them numbly. They didn’t seem to mean as much to me now that my mom was dead. What would the point be in going anywhere? I couldn’t think of any. 

Jack seemed disappointed with my response. “C’mon, kid. Do you know how expensive this lot was? Food, water, guns, everything you need for crossing the Wastes. You’re lucky that I had the mind to hide them so well, even the Lone Wanderer didn’t find them. I can’t say that for most of my supplies.” 

“I’m not lucky,” I said. I was staring at the ground right in front of me. 

Jack huffed, “Look, kid. Your mom died. That’s sad. But I’m telling you, right now, if you don’t get off your ass and get going, you’re going to put all her sacrifice to waste. Do you even realize how hard it was for her to set all this up? Imagine if she put that much work into anything else like she did into your sorry ass. And what are you going to do? Sit there, wait for scavengers to prowl through this place? Because I guarantee you, they’re already coming. 

“So how about instead of sitting here, waiting, you come with me?” 

That got my attention. I had already felt bad for being such a waste of my mother’s efforts, but I hadn’t thought that he was going to offer me an alternative. I looked up. “What?” I asked.  
“You heard me. Look, I gave you the goods. We’re square. And I’m doing that for your mom’s sake, not yours. She was a good customer. I always liked her. So, now, I’m even. I gave you what I promised. And that’s where our original deal ends. But, things are different now. There’s no way I’m staying here. I can already tell you what’s going to happen. Some stupid ass raiders are going to come back, try to reclaim this place. It’s not going to work, though. Without our old numbers and with the behemoth dead, there’s no way raiders are keeping this land. So, I’m leaving. You come with me, and you won’t be alone, at least.” 

“You’re going to Canterbury?” I asked. 

He laughed. “No, are you kidding me? Well, at least not directly. I’m going to take what little I had hidden, and I’m going to start trading again. I’m going to hit all the major trading centers in a circular loop around the Wasteland. Megaton, Rivet City, then north to some other small settlements. I’m getting back into the game of travelling and trading. I’m going to keep moving until the raiders make another settlement. Mark my words, they will. They’re like ants, you can’t kill them all. And once they’ve made another cozy burrow, I’m going to make it my home.  
“Until then, it might not be a direct route, but it’ll be the safest way for you to get to Canterbury. I couldn’t care less if you live or die, but I need someone to split night watches with me and carry my shit. Alone, neither of us will make it far. So, what do you say?” 

I didn’t say anything, I just got up and started following him. 

He was true to his word. He loaded me up with everything he didn’t want to carry, and we headed out right away. When we passed the slave pens, the woman I’d told to leave was gone. I felt a glow of pride. I prayed that she was far, far away. 

Jack cussed out the last slave left alive, and shot a warning shot into the air, trying to get him to go away. 

“Hey, stop,” I said. “He’s not going to do anything to us.” 

Jack snorted, but saw that I was right. He put his gun back away. “I wish we had a collar, we could take him with us. That would be a cool 500 caps to start with, if we found someone willing to buy.”  
I stopped in my tracks. Jack stopped, a few feet in front of me. He looked back quizzically. 

“I’m not going with you,” I said. 

“What? Kid, you’re crazy. Let’s get going,” he said. 

I shook my head, remembered what Grif had told me. I knew how it started, how we got new raiders. Some sap from the Wasteland, down on his luck, would buy into seedy business selling drugs or other people’s bodies. Then, he’d get hooked on the supply. Or, sometimes, just hooked on the raider life itself. He’d get pulled deeper and deeper in, until he all but HAD to become a raider to pay for it. 

It was a trap, even if Jack didn’t know it. I was getting dragged back in. These “detours,” the work I’d do, the debt I might find myself in-there were a million ways to get lost in the Wastes.  
And he’d drag me back in. A mirelurk in a bucket, and he didn’t even know it. 

But, with that one remark, he showed me who he truly was. And what I might become, if I went with him. 

He was looking at me, angry. “C’mon, kid. I don’t have time for games. You in, or out?” 

“Out,” I said, certain. “You gave me the supplies, and like you said, we’re square. We haven’t even left the Mills, yet, so I don’t owe you anything, either. We can break it off here, no hard feelings.” I held out my hand to shake. He looked at it distastefully. 

“For my mom,” I added, “please.” 

His face cleared of some of its anger, and he crossed over to me in two confident strides. He took my hand and shook it with bad grace. 

“Fine,” he said. “We’re fine. Give me what’s mine, and we’ll split at the exit. But I better not see much of you after that.” 

And so, we did. I handed over everything but what I’d had when I’d walked into the canyon, plus the burlap sack. Heavily loaded, he grumbled something about a pack brahmin, but I didn’t catch it.  
We walked down the normally guard path to the entrance of the Mills. 

He turned to me. “This is where we split, kid. Goodbye,” he said, then he seemed to be considering something. “And, good luck.” 

“Goodbye,” I replied, giving a tiny wave and a nod of my head. Weighed down with his goods, he hit the path, heading south. 

I turned to take one last look at the Mills. It was strange to think of all the time I’d spent there. And now, it was time to leave. My mother had finally done what she’d always wanted to do. She’d set me free. I'd given the man in the pen some food and money. There was nothing left for me here. I hoped I never saw it again.

I didn’t stop walking until I reached Canterbury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, people! So, this chapter is a day early. I just couldn't sit on it any longer! Besides, it's pretty short. I just needed to get him where he needed to go. 
> 
> I want to say, this chapter changed so much while I was working on it. Originally, he was going to travel with Jack for a while. But that just didn't serve him, or make him happy. Now, I'm not saying he's real, but I knew this was the decision he'd make. 
> 
> I'm very excited for the next part of the story. We're finally going to learn more about his mom. And from there, things will really begin. 
> 
> I'm sorry that the chapter is so short. I wish that I could offer more consistancy, but sometimes there isn't as much to say. I hope that I can make up for it in the next few weeks. I want to sincerely thank every single person reading this story, and everyone who has subscribed. You don't know what it means to me. This is a story that I've wanted to write for years, and having people read it means so much for me. 
> 
> I'd love to hear from you guys! So, if you have any feedback, drop a comment! I'll be happy to reply :)


	9. Wash it all away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom meets his father, and gets a new start in life.

When I arrived at the entrance of Canterbury, I was tried, dusty, and barely able to stand on my own feet. My mother’s supplies had gotten me across the Wasteland well. Enough food, enough water, and armor, and even a new hunting rifle. But now, I was running low on water, and I was so tired. Traveling on my own, I hadn’t been able to sleep. The one time I tried to sleep, hidden under a piece of corrugated metal, I hadn’t been able to sleep, jumping at every sound. Eventually, when the sound of a squirrel made me leap up and bump my head, I gave up on sleep and kept going. I could sleep when I got to Canterbury, I kept thinking. 

And now, here I was. After such a buildup, building my whole life, I found myself wondering what to do next. It was like Smiling Jack had described. There seemed to be just one road, short and lined with squat, brick buildings. It seemed that only the first few at the front of the road were even occupied. It was dawn, and only a few people were stirring. A girl in mercenary armor was heading out toward what looked to be a brahmin pen. A few shopkeepers were opening up, yawning in the early morning light. 

There was one bald man who was walking up and down the town’s one street. I walked up to him, feeling somehow that he was in charge. 

If my dirty and tired state surprised him, he hid it well. His eyebrows raised slightly, but I was sure that he probably saw worse from people coming in from the wastes. 

“I’m looking for my father,” I said. I was surprised by how rough my voice had gotten after just a few days of rough living, but I pressed on. “His name is Jonathan. I don’t know his last name.” Which was the sad truth. A lifetime of hopes and worries, and all I had to base it on was a first name. If the name turned up nothing in this town, I would have no idea what to do next. 

Luckily, his eyebrows raised in recognition. “Jonathan? John? He’s your father?” his voice raised an octave. I guessed that my father had never mentioned me. 

“Yeah, I guess. John. Do you know where he is?” I asked. 

The man nodded. He seemed to respect me more now that he knew who my father was. He reached out to shake my hand and said, “Yes, yes, of course! He’s a trader. He’s been based here for years now. Here, I’ll take you to him. Unless...did you want to get ready, first?” He looked me up and down at my dirty face and worn armor. It didn’t seem that he thought less of me for them, but rather that he thought that I would want to look nice for such a reunion. 

A shook my head. “No, I just want to see him, if that’s okay.” Now that I was there, it would have been impossible to wait even another second. 

The man nodded, and said, “Alright, follow me,” he waved his arm and we started to walk through the town. “By the way, my name is Uncle Roe. I guess that you could say that I’m in charge here. If only because no one else really wants to be,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “So, kid, what’s your story? John has been a well-respected part of the community here for a long time, but he’s never talked about his family.” 

I shook my head, trying to shake off his question. “I lived with my mom, growing up. I always meant to come here someday.”

Uncle Roe nodded, satisfied. Then, he nodded to the building we were standing in front of. It was the smallest of the buildings of the town, and far from the one diner. It had a sign painted with “John’s General Supplies.” I was so scared to knock on that door. 

Uncle Roe seemed to sense my nervous energy. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

I nodded, even though this was the most nervous I’d ever been. Uncle Roe started to leave, but I stopped him. 

“Wait,” I said. Suddenly, I felt like a child again. I remembered how young I really was. I felt so small. “Will he...will he like me? You know him.” It felt so pathetic to even ask. 

Uncle Roe’s eyes softened, but he laughed awkwardly. “Well, kid, I just met you,” he rubbed the back of his head. “But, I’m guessing that this is your first meeting?” I nodded. He thought for a second, then said, “You’re his kid, I don’t see why he wouldn’t like you. And while he’s never mentioned a son, I wouldn’t be too upset by that. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. He’s a very private man. And he’s a good man, really. I don’t know where he came from, or what he did. He’s never said. But I think you’ll have to see for yourself.” 

It was a kindness that was rare in the Wasteland. “Thank you,” I said. My resolve was hardened. I turned to the door. Roe must have left, but I opened the door. 

There was a man sitting behind a counter, looking tired and haggard. He looked like me, but older, grayer, and infinitely more tired. He must have been not much older than my mother, but something had aged him. He was reading a magazine, but looked up at the ding of the bell over the door. 

His face lit up. “Oh, a new face? Those are rare around these parts. What’s your name, traveler?” he asked. 

“I’m Thomas Davis,” I said. I gulped. “Your son.” 

His face changed. Absolute shock, utter joy. He looked to be on the verge of tears. 

He came to me, and wrapped me in an embrace. I started to cry. 

“What happened?” he asked, and he held me out at arm’s length to get a better look at me. “Your mom, is she….?” he trailed off, looking deep into my eyes, looking for something. 

I shook my head. She’s dead, went unspoken. 

He sighed, sad but not surprised. “Oh, child,” he said. “Oh, child, I am so sorry.” He held me again, for a long time while I cried. 

After a while, he insisted on feeding me, giving me purified water. Then, he did something that I never would have expected. He gave me three bottles of purified water to bathe with. He led me to a defunct bathroom at the back of the shop. While the plumbing hadn’t worked since the war, he gave me the water, and told me to pour it over myself. The bottles were large, and I told him I couldn’t let him waste that much water. 

He shook his head. “Nothing’s a waste, not for you. You need to wash off the dirt of the Wasteland, and the radiation, and what’s happened to you. You need a fresh start. You need to be clean.” He looked at me so intently, and I knew that he could see deep into my soul. This was about more than a shower. This was a gift of the highest order. He was giving me a new start. He was going to let the past wash away. 

“Thank you,” I said. He nodded, still misty-eyed. He wiped at the unshed tears and said, “I’ve set out some new clothes for you, and I’m going to start on dinner. It’ll be the best I can manage. I’m closing the shop early today. We have a lot of catching up to do.” 

“You’re right,” I said, looking at the bundle of clothes he was offering. I took them, and said another shaky “thank you.” 

He left, closing the door behind him. I climbed into the tub, stripping away the armor and my underclothes. I started to pour the water over my head. There was also a bar of soap on a shelf built into the side of the tub. As the water poured over me, it felt like I was washing away more than the dust. My guilt and past were also swirling away down that drain. I lathered myself off, and kept on washing myself. I felt like the weight that I had been carrying was being eased off my shoulders. It felt a little like forgiveness. 

After I rinsed off the last of the suds, I dried myself with a scratchy towel, and dressed. I was clean. I walked forward, and opened the door. 

It was time for us to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! There's a lot to say. 
> 
> I have to admit that this chapter was influenced by my religion. (Which is Christianity as you might have been able to guess.) After everything I put Tom through, I wanted him to get a fresh start. I wanted to do something nice for him, and give him a break, and I wanted to do something beautiful and symbolic for him. I also just wanted him to get to rest, eat, all that stuff before they talk about his mom next chapter. I love my character, and I just want him to be happy. 
> 
> Also, given that this is ultimately a story about forgiveness and growth, I should have realized my religion was going to pop up at some point. 
> 
> Next chapter is the one I'm very excited for. It's the story of how his parents met, how he was concieved, and what Darling (his mom) was like. I wrote a rough draft a few weeks ago. But I will need to edit it to change the tone to better match this chapter, in terms of Tom and his relationship to his dad, and to make it more action-packed and dynamic. But I'm very excited. 
> 
> I hope I didn't make anyone uncomfortable with this chapter. While I am a passionate Christian, I accept people of all religions, and I invite all interpretations and choices in what to read! I also welcome feedback and comments, as all I want is to improve in my writing! :)


	10. Darling's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finally learns about how he came to be, and learns more about his mother.

“I’m going to tell you everything that I know. Everything that she told me, and that I learned afterward, from asking around about her,” said my father. We were sitting in his sparse living room, following a nice dinner and a restful nap. I leaned forward from my spot on the moth-eaten couch. 

“Go on,” I said. 

He nodded, and started, “She had been taken by raiders at night when she was young. She had been separated from her family as the town fought against a raid. She was one of the few that were taken. Her family had been close, for a family in the Wasteland. She missed them.

“But, she was in the Mills now, and she had to find a way to survive. 

“As a pretty teenage girl, she had ended up all too soon in the brothel. The men thought that she was cute. One john in particular took to calling her ‘darlin’’ whenever he came up, sloppily drunk on cheap beer and sitting at his favorite table. After a while, it was what all the raiders called her. I don’t even know if they knew her real name. You know that. Darling Davis, they called her. Her first name was lost to them. They didn’t care.” There was a hitch in his voice, and he sounded pained. Still, he continued. 

“She was a clever woman, your mom. She got close to the Madame, and took on every job that would keep her out of the back rooms with the men. She cleaned, she swept, she stripped. Sorry, kid. Wish I didn’t have to tell you this stuff, but you deserve the full truth. She also had a good head for counting money, so she also tended the bar and made sure that men were paying their tabs for their….nights with the ladies. You don’t need me to spell it out for you, you grew up there,” he said, cringing. I stared at him, and nodded for him to continue. There was no room for embarrassment in this story. 

He went on. “Well, I grew up in Tenpenny, with a rich family. My family had been traders since before the bombs dropped. Some of my ancestors survived hiding out in deep basements and stuff. They came out, and began trading again. My father was still a trader, leaving us for long stretches of time to trade high-end goods. My mother worked as a kind of nurse in the tower’s clinic. We were sitting on a pretty pile of caps, but I never appreciated them. All I wanted was to party.” He looked ashamed of himself. 

Through a grimace, he said, “When I hit my twenty-first birthday, I begged my dad for a part of my inheritance. I wanted a good chunk of it to go out and party. Of course, he thought that I wanted it to start a business or go study or something. 

“So, he agreed. He gave me well over a thousand caps. More than I could have expected. It’s a lot of money now, and was worth even more back then. Me and my friend Barry pulled together that money and some of his savings. Then, we left the tower, looking for adventure. 

“We stayed a while in a town called Megaton. Every night, we drank, did what drugs were available, and took turns sleeping with the town prostitute,” he took another swig of his drink. I had known that my father slept with prostitutes. It’s how I had come to be, after all. It still didn’t feel good to learn my mother wasn’t the only one. I looked down.

He went on, “But soon, we were bored there. Two rich assholes, sick of small town life.” I looked up at him, and saw the regret in his face. He shook his head, looking a million miles away. I reached out and patted his knee, letting him know I was still listening. 

He nodded, and closed his eyes. “We were just planning on travelling with a caravan to Rivet City, when an old man at the bar told us a story. Said that he’d heard of some guys who had dressed up like raiders, snuck into their bazaar, and lived like a king for weeks on 150 caps. The raiders were so desperate for money to come in, that he’d been able to buy anything he’d wanted. When he was out of caps, he’d snuck back out. 

“It sounded easy enough to us. And we were two dumb drunks, looking for a cheap thrill. This sounded like the perfect one. The next time the clothing trader came to town, we bought raider gear. We’d gotten the map location from the old man, and set off for the Mills.” 

“I can’t believe it,” I said, breaking in. “You went in willingly?” I kept my voice down, but I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I knew that he had his dark past, but it was impossible to imagine anyone would ever want to go into The Mills. 

“Kid, I know you couldn’t possibly understand. It was an incredibly stupid, horrible thing to do. I didn’t know then what I would find there. I didn’t know how hard it would be to leave.” 

I grunted. He was right, I couldn’t understand. But I had to forgive him for his stupidity. It was so long ago, and he clearly regretted it. 

“You can keep going,” I said. 

“So, when we got there, we tried to play it cool. Act like we were raiders from far off somewhere, looking to spend our caps. But they had us figured out from the moment they saw us. They could tell that we’d never had a hard day in our lives. We disgusted them, acting like tourists in their hard lives. 

“Still, they wanted to get our caps off us, and have some fun watching us dumb tourists at the same time. Barry and I were always drunk, always loaded up with Jet and Med-X. I especially liked Mentats. I liked to think that they made me clever and charming, even through the haze. 

“The madame in particular wanted our money. She set us each up with one person, taking into account our wants and needs. Since I pretended to be some hotshot, clever trader’s son, she set me up with your mother. Her smartest girl. Her best girl. For as long as I’d be there, I would be her only client. She would be my only girl. I was struck by her beauty, and happily handed over the money. 

“All this time, the raiders were planning on killing Barry and me. They wanted to dry us of every coin, and then push us off the highest point of the bazaar’s rickety walkways. They thought that it would be funny, to see the rich, pretty boys fall into the pit after we’d spent so long making asses of ourselves. To our faces, though, they couldn’t have been more kind. We were under some delusion that we were clever, and that we were adding culture into their lives. They’d pretend to be shocked and impressed with everything we said as they handed us drugs and beers, and laughed behind our backs when we were passed out. 

“Your mom, though, wasn’t laughing. She had taken a liking to me, after months of sharing a bed and talking. I always tried to go to her sober, with Mentats in my system. I tried to be polite and kind. We talked a lot about the outside world. She still remembered it, vaguely. She told me her whole life story, and her real name, Lilly. We loved each other, in our strange, limited way. She was the only one there who thought I was smart, once we started talking about books and science and trading. I still feel like I lied to her, and that the Mentats had been doing the real, heavy lifting.

“One night, she told me what the raiders were planning. She had made up her mind that I needed to know the truth: that there was no way that me and Barry were going to get out of there alive, and that the old man at the bar had lied to us. Though she and Barry didn’t like each other, she was willing to do what she could to get both of us out. 

“It became a huge plan. We cut down on drinking and partying. We met in secret in Smiling Jack’s cave at night. We paid him for his silence, and for his part of the plan. We’d be living there almost capless, but at least we’d be alive. 

“Right before it was time for leave, she told me she was pregnant. She was almost sure that I had to be the father, given that I was the only man that she had been with in a few months. I was shocked. She wanted to keep the baby, to remember me. And because she was sure that with a smart father like me, you would really be something. I’m sorry...I’m sorry if I’m at all disappointing.” 

I was more stung than disappointed, wondering what his admission meant about me. But I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I waved for him to keep going. 

He sighed. “I begged her to come with me. Begged on both knees. But we knew that the plan was risky. Getting out at the best of times is risky, when the raiders want you in. Disguised and travelling with Smiling Jack, Barry and I had a chance. But her, as the recognizable favorite prostitute of a lot of the men? She had no chance. And she was the only one strong enough to admit it. She told me again and again that she might have been tempted to risk it herself, but she couldn’t risk you, too. She said that she could raise you there. That with her connections and the money she’d saved, she might be able to keep you out of the worst of it, and get you books to learn from. And then, she’d send you to find me. 

“Finally, I gave in. There was no changing her mind. She was staying. And the odd thing was, she didn’t even seem upset about it. Not even resigned. She was too tough for that,” he smiled sadly. “She was happy that you were coming. She said that her life would finally have meaning again. She thanked me for that, and went back to our room. Her room, really. I never saw her again.” He stared up into the lights of his living room, blinking furiously against tears. I looked away, and blinked away my own tears. 

After a long pause, he went on, “The morning of the escape plan went about as well as it could. Barry and I dressed up as raider grunts, with helmets on. The bazaar was running low on goods, so raiding parties were heading out to get more. We went with one of them, until we were out under the sun again. We’d paid off someone to start a riot in the yard. As the raiders around us brawled joyfully, I shot the electrical grid keeping in the Super Mutant Behemoth. He clubbed open the door, and started to rampage. Soon, everyone gave up their fighting to try to get him back into his cage. I don’t know how many died trying. 

“While they were focused on that, we ran to the main path leading out. Smiling Jack met us there, and guided us, running, through the mines. Barry tripped one, and almost blew his foot off. I half-carried him the rest of the way. 

“We kept running even when we were out of the Mills, even as the sounds of screaming and gunshots kept ringing out behind us. We didn’t stop running for at least two miles. When we were finally out of sight, we changed right there under the noonday sun into our soiled old suits. 

“We went home then, and paid Smiling Jack the rest of his fees from what remained of our savings. We had been gone for months, and our families were bitterly disappointed. But we were changed by the ordeal. 

“Barry got an infection in his foot. Spent weeks in the infirmary, getting the best treatment his parents could afford. In the end, he still walked with a limp. And he regretted what he had gotten us into so thoroughly, he never used again. Eventually, he sent me a letter saying that he’d left the tower, to go study with a group of scientists in Rivet City. He was a changed man, and wanted to help the world rebuild. 

“I, on the other hand, started working for my dad. I worked harder than anyone could have ever have expected, given my cushy upbringing. Now that I knew what real struggle was like, I could have happily been a travelling trader the rest of my life, even with all the hard work and walking. 

“But I wanted to be easy for you to find. So, after about a year I had saved up a good amount of money. I bought this store in Canterbury, and sent the information through trusted contacts into the Bazaar, to Smiling Jack and your mother. The day that he sent back word that he’d told Lilly, and that one day you’d be coming was the first time in years that I breathed easily. 

“They also sent me a recording. I don’t know how your mother pulled it off. But, then, I don’t know how she does have the things she can do.” 

He got up on his unsteady legs, and went to a dusty bookshelf behind him. He took out from beneath his clothing a key on a cord around his neck, and turned it in a lock. It opened with a soft “click” and he pulled out a recording and a small player. 

He sat back down in front of me and hit “Play.” 

I sat in wonder as the audio began. It was my mother’s voice, sounding younger and happier than she’d been in a long time. “Bubba, Tommy, say ‘hi’ to your daddy!” There were some baby gurgles. Cleary, I’d been too young to actually say ‘hi.’ Then she said, “I love you, honey. And one day, when he’s all grown up, this handsome little man is going to come see you. Aren’t you, Tommy? And I expect that you’ll take good care of him. Goodbye, my love.” Then, the recording ended, cutting off the continued gurgling of the baby. Of me. 

I looked back up at him. There were tears running down his face. He brushed them away. “You don’t know how many times I listened to this recording. I listened to it whenever things were hard, or when I missed you or her. I always figured that I’d never see her again. But there was always a part of me that hoped….” 

He swallowed, and seemed to be trying to get a grip of himself. “Well, my hopes aren’t what really matter here, are they? I want to say that I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t the man your mother thought I was. And I want to tell you that even though I’m not, you seem like a fine, smart young man with a fighting spirit. You must take after her. But, still, I’m proud to be your dad. And I’m so sorry for everything.” 

I thought for a long moment. This hadn’t been what I had expected of this meeting. My mother had always told me of the strong, smart man who had helped create me. She still had the gleam of young love in her eyes when she talked about him. And now, here he was. A small man, aged prematurely by heartache and strife. I’d wanted to meet him my entire life, and it filled my heart with light to know that he had always felt the same way. 

Yes, he was flawed. But, I had to forgive him, didn’t I? Even if he wasn’t perfect, at least he’d always loved me. Even if it had been from afar. 

“I forgive you,”I said. “For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This one is a little later in the day, but I still got it up! 
> 
> I love this chapter. When I first came up with this story, this was the idea that really got me going. I'm so happy that it's finally up. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who reads, comments, gives kudos, anything! You guys will never know how much it means to me. :)


	11. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and his dad set out.

The next few weeks were a blur. I was still dealing with the sudden loss of my mother and the only home I had ever known. It had been a terrible place, but I had known no other. 

Now, I had a little bit of travel under my belt. I had seen part of the Wasteland. And, what’s more, I had a kind of home here, with my father. It was still odd getting used to such an unfamiliar word.  
That night, I told him everything that had happened to me. About Grif, Becca, and Buck. About finding out about mom, and refusing to travel with Jack. About what I’d learned on the road. 

The one thing that I didn’t tell him was that it was the Lone Wanderer that had killed my mother. I still didn’t know how to feel about her killing my mother, and I didn’t know how I would be able to make sense of it to my father. How could I tell him that the hero of the Wastes had taken my mother? 

Even though I wanted nothing more than to go out and find her, I tried to swallow that desire. I told myself that I was lucky to have a home in the Wasteland, and a brand new family member. We worked together in the shop most of the day. Around five, he’d turn me loose. Sometimes, I’d go with him when he’d grab a beer or two in the small Dot’s dinner in town. Most days, I’d hang out with the teens in town. They were a little younger than me, but they were still pretty cool to hang out with. Then, I’d go home for the day. I would talk with my dad, and help him stock up for the next day. We’d make dinner, and eat on the couch in the living room. He even let me use his computer, and I started writing a rudimentary diary to work through all the emotions I was feeling. 

Every night, I went to bed tired, sore, and a little closer to my father. It was great. But there was one major problem. 

The Lone Wanderer. 

She was still the Wasteland’s hero, and she was no less a hero here. I had to listen to the citizens every day talk about when she visited them, and helped sort out an issue with some deranged citizens holding the place hostage. Uncle Roe always glowed when he talked about her, making sure to always remind us that she had given him a lone to help the local traders beef up their stock. He was immensely proud that she had trusted him with all that money. The kids in town liked to talk about the adventures they’d heard about on the radio, saying that she was a real-life superhero, unlike the fake ones that had used to hang around Canterbury. 

Every time people started talking about her, I had to leave. Whether it was in the dinner, outside, or in the shop, I’d have to find somewhere else to go or something else to do, or else I risked tearing off the head of the person praising her. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dad noticing. He’d always look at me walk around, tired and gray as ever. But I still didn’t know what to tell him, if anything. So, I kept it to myself. 

Until one particularly bad day. 

I’d woken to a nightmare of the day I’d found my mother’s body. I woke up, sweaty and shaking. Still, I tried to act naturally. I was stocking the shelves when my dad came up to me. 

“Hey, son,” he said, looking concerned. “You’re looking a little shaky. Do you want to take the rest of the day off?” 

I shook my head, eyes closed. A part of me wanted to stay busy, so I wouldn’t have to think. 

“No,” I said. “I’m okay. It’s just...I had a bad dream.” 

He looked at me appraisingly. Then, he nodded his head, mind made up. “You need a day off. You’ve been working hard. Go to the Dot’s Dinner. Get a Nuka-Cola or something.” He held about about 20 caps. 

I turned to him and waved my hands. “Dad, really, you don’t have to do that. Don’t you need help running the shop?” 

He snorted. “Son, I appreciate the help, and all the time together. But you seem to forget sometimes I’ve run this store alone for almost two decades.” He smiled warmly. “Go on, be a kid for once. See if Machete and her friend are there.” 

I smiled. “Okay,” I said, taking the money. “Thanks, dad.” 

As I was walked out the door, dad shouted after me, “And bring back the change! Joe better give you a discount, just for being my son.” 

I laughed. “Sure thing, dad.” 

When I got to the bar, it was just Joe, the bar owner, and Uncle Roe, fiddling with the radio. 

“Hey, kid,” said Joe. “Did your old man give you a lunch break for once?” 

I sat on a stool. “Yep. One Nuka-Cola, please. And he says you’d better give me a good deal.” 

He and Uncle Roe laughed. “That sounds like your dad,” said Joe, sliding me my change and my cold drink. 

Just then, the radio started working. 

“-this is Three Dog, AWOOOO! This just in, the Lone Wanderer, aka our last, best hope for humanity, has been spotted near Rivet City. Word on the street is she’s up to something big with her old man. Well, this humble radio man wishes them all the luck in the world. Good luck, you two!

“This has been Three Dog. Stay safe, chiiiiiiidreeeen!” Then, the music came back on. I was gripping my drink with white knuckles. 

Uncle Roe said, “I love hearing about her. I really think she’s going to save the Wastes.” 

Joe was cleaning a glass with a rag. “You think? I’m not sure if anything could save this place.” 

“Oh, for sure,” Uncle Roe replied. “Haven’t you been listening to the radio! There’s nothing she can’t do. And nothing she does wrong. She’s going to save us all, you’ll see.” He was smiling, until he turned to see me. 

“Hey, kid,” he said. “You okay? You look a little sick.” 

I stood, leaving my half-finished drink and stuffing the change into my pocket. “I’m okay. But I better get home.” 

“Oh, okay,” he said, looking a little disgruntled. “I guess I should get back to work, too.” He turned back to Joe to settle his tab, but I was already leaving. 

I went home as fast as my feet could carry me. I wasn’t truly thinking, but suddenly I was so filled with anger, I had to tell someone. And, instinctively, I knew who it had to be. 

I crashed back into the shop, startling my dad, who was reading a magazine. He seemed ready to happily greet me, but I cut him off. 

I punched the wall to the left of the door. “It was the Lone Wanderer!” I said. 

My dad paused, looking at me in horror. “What?” he asked. 

“It was the Lone Wanderer,” I said. I angrily wiped my wet eyes. “She killed mom. She killed everyone in The Mills during those days I was with the caravan. She’s the one that did it. And she’s going to get away with it!” I was so angry, and I was sure that he would be too. I was so sure that I would shatter everything he knew about her. 

He looked down sadly. Then, after what seemed like an infinite pause, he said, “Son, you’re going to have to forgive her.” 

“What!?” I asked. I turned on him. “You can’t be serious! You told me mom was the love of your life, and you’re just going to forgive her murderer?” 

He held up his hands, trying to placate me. “Tom, you have to understand. I could be angry. And I’m deeply heartbroken. Your mother was as innocent as anyone can be in the Wastes. But, son, the Lone Wanderer didn’t know that. She saw a raider den, and she took it out.” 

He looked away, and rubbed his face. “I guessed that it might be her. I’ve heard from Roe that she likes to take out raider strongholds. As soon as you told me….I knew. I knew it must be her.” 

I fell to my knees. “You knew? You knew, and you let everyone go on and on and on about how amazing she is?” I waved an arm wildly. “I know that it was a raider den. I know that horrible things happened there. Trust me, I grew up watching it. But she acted as judge, juror, and executioner for everyone in there! Everyone but Smiling Jack, who’s done much more harm to the Wastes than mom ever did.” 

“I know he did,” he looked so sad. “Maybe she should have seen the raiders as individual people, maybe she should have tried to see them as people. I wish she would have. But, son,” he said, kneeling in front of me. “You’re going to have to forgive her. It’s the only way you’re going to be able to be happy.” 

He pulled me into a hug, then. I crumbled against him. But I said, “I don’t think that I can.” 

“I know,” he said. He sounded just as torn up as me. 

That night, I made my decision. I would never be able to live there peacefully knowing that my mother’s murderer was out there, not facing justice. Filled with an immense guilt, I filled a sack with food I’d bought with my own money. I couldn’t justify stealing from my own father, even for this. 

I pulled on the armor that my mother had given me, and strapped my pistol, knife, and hunting rifle on. Then, I went to the desk in my father’s office, creeping silently in front of his door. I sat at the computer, and typed up a quick letter, explaining where I was going and why. I ended it with a promise to come back as soon as I possibly could. After reading over it twice, there was nothing left to do.  
I went down the stairs as quietly as I could. Then, I grabbed the doorknob, telling myself again and again that I was doing the right thing, even as I had a hard time believing it. 

“Tom?” came my father’s voice from the top of the stairs. He was fully dressed. 

I turned, looking like a caught animal. My hand froze on the doorknob. 

“Dad, I-” I stopped. I couldn’t justify this, not to his face. My hand fell from the door. 

“I’m, I’m sorry dad. But I have to do this. I have to go after her. I’ll never been able to stay sane here, never telling her what she did to her face. This is something I have to do. I didn’t want to leave you, I promise,” I looked at him, praying he’d believe me. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel rejected, after just a few weeks of really knowing me.

He came down the stairs in quick strides, and I saw he was carrying a packed bag of his own. My heart stopped. “Son, I’ve been paying a lot of attention these last few weeks. And I thought there might be a chance you’d want to leave. So, I want to come with you. If you’ll let me.” He sounded confident, but then he looked down.

“I won’t...I won’t force you to let me come with you. I was never there for you growing up, and I know that you might not want to give me a second chance. Or this might be something you want to do on your own. If you want me to stay, I will. I’ll wait. I did this long, I can do it again. But, I’m your father. And no matter what, where you are is where I want to be.” He looked at me, strong as flint. 

We stared at each other for a long beat. Then, I nodded. 

“Come with me,” I said. “I know you don’t agree with what I’m doing, but I don’t want us to be separated either.” 

Looking like he was on the verge of tears, he pulled me into a tight hug. Then, he pushed me back and held me by the shoulders. 

“Can you wait a few hours? Until dawn? I would like to settle things with Roe, and sell the shop. Get some caps for the journey.” 

I faltered. “Sell the store? Dad, you can’t do that! You’ve been working here for years. You’ve built this place entirely by yourself. Can’t Roe watch it until you come back?” Even though I had hated him talk about the Lone Wanderer, I still knew that he was basically trustworthy. The shop would be in good hands, with him. 

My dad smiled slightly. “I’m sure he could. But I don’t know how long this is going to take. Besides, I settled here so long because I knew you were coming. It’s a good town, with good people, but I can start again anywhere.” 

I nodded, still feeling guilty. “Okay,” I said. I set the bag down. “I’ll go with you in the morning, when you make the sale.” I didn’t want him to think that I was going to bolt again the moment he looked away. 

He nodded firmly. “Okay. In the meantime, we should pack up as much as the stock we can. The other shopkeepers might want to buy some of it up, and anything we sell is more money in our pockets.”  


I nodded. We worked away the last few hours before dawn, and then dad negotiated caps from all the traders in town, telling them that me and him were going on a journey. Roe was clearly sad to see such a respected businessman leave, but he was happy to buy the shop from us, saying some travelling traders were looking to settle down. My heart squeezed, thinking of Grif’s caravan. I wondered, not for the first time, what I was doing. 

But I also knew that I had to face my mother’s murderer. I had to see this through, for myself and for her memory. Even if I wasn’t really sure what I’d do once I was facing her, or where we were going.  


Once everything was settled, we stood at the mouth of the small town. 

“Ready?” asked my dad, scanning my face for certainty. 

I nodded. “Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is another chapter that changed A LOT from what I was planning. In early drafts of this story, the dad was still a very tired man who'd been through a lot. But he'd also kind of given up. Before, this chapter was about Tom getting sick of sitting in a town and working for his grumpy dad who wasn't even happy to see him. 
> 
> Then, when I was writing, I discovered a much warmer version of the dad. And I liked him a lot more. And so, I had to change a lot. Because, being honest with myself, I really didn't want to split them up. I don't think that the dad agrees at all with what Tom is doing, and even will probably think it's very dangerous. (Think of the reputation the Lone Wanderer has.) Tom isn't thinking very clearly, and he mostly just wants to be with him to be there to protect him and talk some sense into him. 
> 
> I loved writing this chapter. I've always liked Canterbury as a little town, and kind of wished that we could see more of it. It's always been so easy for me to imagine Joe cleaning glasses, Uncle Roe talking, and everyone just chilling in the afternoon. Maybe I just like the small town vibe. Also, sue me, I like Uncle Roe. I think he's a funny dude. 
> 
> Anyway, we're getting kind of close to the end. I don't know how many chapters yet, but I have a firm idea of how this is ending, and we're getting closer and closer. It may end up being more or less chapters, depending. I hope y'all will stick around. Once again, I love reading comments, seeing kudos, and seeing people have been reading. It all makes me so happy. :)


	12. Leaders and Followers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom follows the Lone Wander's recent travels, and gets followed in return.

Being on the road was an experience that I was never sure I’d be entirely used to. There was the trudging, monotonous sound of my boots shifting the loose sand beneath my feet. There was nothing to do but watch as landmarks in the distance appeared as tiny dots, grew bigger, passed, and disappeared behind us. 

We walked for the rest of the day, not saying much of anything. We didn’t want to waste energy on talking. Instead, we listened to the radio. My dad took mercy on me, and let us listen to the Enclave’s radio station so I wouldn’t have to listen to Three Dog praise my mother’s murderer. I really appreciated it. 

At the end of the first day of walking, we set up camp and started a fire. It was then that my dad asked the golden question. 

“So, son. Where exactly are we going?” He was poking the fire with a stick, and asked the question so casually.

“You didn’t know?” I asked. It seemed weird that he would follow me all this time, not even caring where we were going. 

He shrugged, then squinted at me. His night vision must have been shredded by the light of the fire. “I figured that you had some kind of an idea. And, like I told you in Canterbury, all I want is to be where you are. I don’t really care where it is.” 

I shifted. A part of me was flattered by his trust in me. But at the same time, I wondered if he truly didn’t care about our destination, or about the quest as a whole. 

I cleared my throat. “Well, I thought that it would be a good idea to head down to Rivet City. I know that the Lone Wanderer spends a lot of time in Rivet City, and I’ve heard that it’s close to the Jefferson Monument, where she’s based.” 

My dad nodded slowly. “She’s based there, huh?” he asked. “Well, hat sounds like as good a plan as any.” He discarded the stick, and started rummaging in the pack for food. 

We sat in a terribly awkward silence for a while. I could tell, now more than ever, that he wasn’t happy with my decision to seek vengeance. I could sense in the way that he wasn’t open like he used to be. In the shop, he paid close attention to everything I did, like he was trying to make up for all the years that we’d been apart. We’d spent every day together, and most of the afternoons, too. We’d talk for hours, mostly about my childhood and my time in the Wasteland. I’d talk to him for hours about my mother teaching me to read from books she’d painstakingly traded for, and how I’d never been close to any of the other raiders. But now, we were spending even more time together, and it felt like no time at all. 

I cleared my throat. “Dad, you don’t like that we’re doing this, do you?” 

He looked at me. “I just wish that I could make you see that no matter what happens, we can’t bring back Lilly. We can’t bring back your mom.” 

He reached toward my arm, but suddenly, I was filled with such strong, twitchy energy that I couldn’t stand to be touched. Instead, I pulled away. 

“Well, I still have to do this. Even if it doesn’t bring her back, she deserves someone who will fight for her as hard as she fought for us.” It wasn’t until my words were out that I realized how hurtful they might be. That they might make my father feel inadequate in how he was responding. I saw the way that his shoulders slumped, and couldn’t stand it. Instead, I mumbled something about going hunting, and wandered off away from the camp. 

When I was far enough away that I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear me, I screamed out my frustration and anger. Anger at him, the Lone Wanderer, and even at myself. 

Without thinking, I turned and punched a nearby tree stump with all my might, and all I got for my efforts was an aching and scraped hand. I clutched at it, and cursed. 

All this time that I had spent since my mother’s death, trying to do the right thing for her, and here I was, punching at nothing and pushing my father away. 

I slumped against the tree, and slid down to the ground, ignoring the rough texture of its bark. I groaned, and put my face in my hands. It felt like if I ever stopped moving, I started feeling like that I was going crazy. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I wanted to keep moving, find the Lone Wanderer, and make her pay. Then, I could be peaceful. 

Couldn’t I? 

I looked into a puddle of dirty water at my feet. In my reflection, I looked for any trace of my mother’s face. I was a well-mixed version of both of my parents, which I could see now that I knew my father. I thought that maybe I could see a shadow of her in the shape of my eyes, and in the curve of my lips. But when I tried to pull up an image of her face, I was left with almost nothing. 

Still, I looked into the puddle. “Mom, what do I do?” I asked the darkening night. 

I didn’t get a reply. 

Eventually, when I calmed down a little, I headed back to the camp. Luckily, on the way I was able to bag a couple of squirrels, which made my lame excuse of going hunting honest, at least. I silently thanked Grif for what he’d taught me. 

When I came back to the camp, I saw with a pang that my father was cleaning my other gun. It made me feel immensely guilty, but when I got his attention and held up the squirrels, his smile seemed to erase at least some of the tension. 

“Good catch, son,” he said. “Bring them over here, and I’ll show you how to cook them.” 

I brought them over, not telling him that I’d already learned about outdoor cooking from when Buck made Yao Guai stakes. Instead, I simply enjoyed this small taste of normalcy. 

When we got back on the road the next morning, we seemed to be less burdened than before. It felt like something had been cleared from the air the night before, and like we were now able to make better time. The miles passed quickly under our feet. 

As we moved, my father made all the choices about the route that we were taking. Now that he knew the destination, he seemed to know the way there by heart. 

I jogged up slightly to walk beside him. “Did you ever trade in Rivet City?” I asked him, wanting to foster our new peace.

He nodded. “When I was a travelling trader, before you were born. Any travelling trader worth his salt does a lot of trade with that city. With the work that they in science, they’re always attracting new visitors and inhabitants. It’s a great place to trade. I’m actually following the same route that travelling traders have always used.” 

He pointed along the ground, and I could see that the dirt had been trampled flat by the weight of many feet, both human and brahmin. “As you can see, the route is still in heavy usage. That’s both a good and a bad thing. It means that it’s easy to find our way, and that we’re more likely to run into travellers heading the other way. But it also means that raiders know that traders are easy targets here.” 

I nodded. “Is that why they travel with mercenaries?” I asked. 

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “We probably should’ve hired Dom or Machete to come with us. But, then, we were in such a hurry. Don’t worry, though, we can probably handle anything we meet on this road.” 

And, indeed, we did. There wasn’t much traffic on the road that day. We did find a small pod of mirelurks. Killing them was easy, once you had a clear shot of the face. We gathered some of the meat. Again, I quietly thanked Grif for what he’d taught me. Luckily, we didn’t run into any raiders. I still didn’t know what I’d do if I ran into one. Likely, all the ones who knew my face were dead. But if any of the dwellers of the Mills had been elsewhere during the attack, they would know that I was supposed to be one of them. And desertion was punishable by death. 

Still, we went very quickly that day. More and more, I started seeing signs that we were getting closer to Rivet City. We passed through downtown, over an overpass, and across the river. As we walked along it, I grew more and more nervous. Was I really ready for this? 

Suddenly, my dad’s arm shot out, stopping me. 

“Wait,” he said, staring straight ahead. I was so tempted to ask him what it was, but I’d learned a thing or two from the Wasteland. So, instead, I pulled out my gun silently, and began to crouch.  
But then, I saw what had made him pause, and I put my gun away. 

“Becks?” I called out to the shadowy figure under the bridge. I could tell why she had made my dad stop in his tracks. From where she was standing in the shadows, it would be easy to think that she was a raider. But I could tell it was her from her profile. 

The figure turned, and sure enough, it was her. “Tom?” she asked. She started running towards us, and threw her arms around me in a hug. 

“I take it that you know each other?” asked my dad, putting away his own gun and smiling slightly. 

“Yes,” I said, detangling myself as quickly as I could. “This is Becks. She’s one of the traders that I told you about. Becks, where’s your dad, and Buck?” 

She tilted her head toward the bridge. “Over that way. They just took care of this whole group of raiders that were on our way in the path. Were you guys following this path, too?” she asked, tilting her head. 

Though I hated most of the raiders that I knew when I was growing up, it still made me sick to think of two people I trusted killing some. What if one of them was like my mother? The thought made me so sick, I didn’t answer. 

Instead, my dad said, “Yes. We’re moving to Rivet City, and I figured that we’d follow the trader’s way.” 

She nodded. “Makes sense. It’s a good path. Only problem is, we’ve been making horrible time. Hah, we’ve probably been making it a very easy walk for you two, though,” she said teasingly. “We’ve had to fight off so many people on the way. I never knew trading would be this way.” 

She shook her head, as if she was trying to clear it. “So, you guys are coming to Rivet City? That’s great! That’s where we’re going, too. You should walk with us. There’s power in numbers.”  
My father graciously accepted her offer, and I thanked her. We walked behind her, and past the bodies of some raiders. I didn’t look at any of them, wondering how many of them had struggled with the lifestyle like my mother had. 

“Hey, kid,” said Grif, as if meeting me was the most casual thing in the world, like we often bumped into each other on the road. Then, he looked up at my father. “I take it that you found your dad,” he said. He seemed pleased with this news. I knew that must because he knew this meant that I must have decided not to go back to the raider camp. Little did he know that I had, but had found nothing there. 

“Yeah,” I said. “This is my dad, John.” 

“Nice to meet you,” said my father, taking a few confident steps forward. He took Grif’s hand, and they shook firmly, looking right into each other’s eyes. I remembered what my dad had told me in the shop, about being able to tell what kind of man someone was by the grip of his handshake. It seemed to be a trader thing, because Grif nodded solemnly at my father before letting go. 

Then, Grif turned to me. “I take it you two are also heading to Rivet City? It’s the only place worth going to in these parts.” 

“Yes,” I said. 

“I told them they could come with us,” said Becca. “That’s okay, right, daddy?” she asked, appealing directly to him. 

“Two strangers walking with us,” said Buck from behind her, sheathing a broad knife at his side. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Becks.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. 

“Yes, it is,” Grif said. “You two are welcome to come.” 

Buck gaped at us. Cleary, despite our early morning talk a few weeks ago, he still didn’t trust me. Oh, well. I guess that in a way, he was right. My stomach churned at the thought of what they would think if they knew why I was going to Rivet City. 

“Sounds good,” said my father. “Son, looks like you’ve mastered networking. We’ll make you a trader yet.” He patted me firmly on my shoulder, and I felt sick with guilt. 

I chuckled nervously. “Yeah, of course,” I said. 

With bad grace, Buck said, “Well, we’re just about done looting this scum. We might as well get going. The sooner we get there, the better.” 

We started walking, my father and Grif leading us and talking quietly about trade routes and inflation. Me and Becca walked behind, with her jabbering away happily about her first few weeks as a travelling trader. And Buck followed, carrying his minigun and watching me all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! As always, I am so grateful to every body who's reading. Every comment, kudos, and view makes me so incredibly happy. To tell the truth, I'd write this story either way. But knowing that I have people who are reading makes me so happy, and helps me tackle this project with much more excitement. 
> 
> Anyway, something that I kind of struggled with this chapter was having two father figures meet. Like I said in the last chapter notes, I hadn't expected Tom's biological father to become such a warm, supportive character. So, I do think that there may be some tension there in the future. But I'm also hoping to diversify what Grif and John bring to the table. Grif is a rough guy, a former raider, and has spent most of his life travelling the wastes. John, on the other hand, has mostly experienced just being a trader, and had a much different upbringing. 
> 
> I knew that I had to bring back Buck, Grif, and Becca this chapter, because they're important to how this whole thing shakes down. But I'm hoping in future chapters to really work on making sure that Grif and John are both supportive, but in vastly different ways. 
> 
> Anyway, I know that nothing much exciting happened this chapter. I'm sorry. I hope that the next one is a bit more dramatic! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always. :)


	13. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving in Rivet City, Tom finally finds someone who agrees with him.

The next morning, we made it to Rivet City. I’d never seen such a huge settlement in the Wasteland. Only Megaton came close, and I’d only seen it from a distance. Rivet City was something else. It was a huge ship that was docked on the low, dirty river. It was solid metal, and the largest structure that I’d ever seen in my life. It’s gunmetal gray body stretched out in either direction, and it was crowned by a tower that climbed into the sky. I craned my neck up and up to see the top of it. At the very top, I could see someone standing. From their stance, they seemed to be holding a gun. I squinted, trying to see better. 

Becca elbowed me. “That’s just a guard. This is one of the best-guarded places in the Wastes. That’s how so many scientists and intellectual types can stay here safely.” 

My stomach sank. Hadn’t the radio said something about the Lone Wanderer working with the scientists of Rivet City? More and more, it was becoming apparent how close I was to the end of my journey.  
I gulped. “That’s great,” I said around a dry throat. 

Becca smiled at me. “You seem nervous. What, are you scared you’ll be arrested?” She was clearly joking. I found it a little funny that she thought I was worried about the guards, when they were the last thing on my mind. 

I laughed nervously. “No, I’m just not used to seeing so many guards in one place.” 

She shrugged. “You get used to it. Well, you do if you stay here long enough. We’re probably going to leave within the week. This deal my dad’s working on might still fall through.”  
“What deal?” I asked. But just then, we’d made it to an intercom that was posted on a metal pole outside the city. 

Grif stepped forward authoritatively, and said into it, “This is Grif, along with my caravan and two other traders. We’d like access, please.” 

“Understood,” came a deep, male voice. “Stand back while the bridge extends.” 

I looked ahead. There was a wide gap between us and the entrance to the ship, underneath which the river sat. I had been wondering how we were going to cross. With the sound of screeching metal on metal, my question was answered. 

A metal bridge that had been folded along the side of the ship like a sleeping bird’s wing swung out toward us. The sound and the enormity of it was very dramatic. My jaw dropped. I wasn’t used to seeing anything this impressive in the Wasteland. 

My dad, who didn’t seem as amazed as me, glanced down at my face and chuckled fondly. “Pretty cool, isn’t it, son?” He asked. I nodded dumbly. It was only then that I remembered that I was the only one in this group who had never seen this sight. It made me feel more than a little clueless about how the world worked. Especially because Becca, who couldn’t have been older than me, was watching the bridge extend with an air of disinterest. She had only just become a traveling trader, and she already knew so much more about the world than me. 

When we made it to the front of the ship, there was a man wearing dark armor and whose brown hair was swept away from his face. 

“Hello, Grif,” he said with a stiff nod. Then, he looked over the rest of the group, with his eyes lingering on me. “I’m Harkness, head of security for Rivet City. Don’t break any of our laws, and we won’t have any trouble.” 

“Understood,” said Grif with a nod, sounding a lot like Harkness just did. 

Grif turned to me and my father. “I have a deal to discuss with a man named Seagrave in the Marketplace, and Becca and Buck need to make some trades, as well. How about we all meet up later for dinner, though? I’d love a chance to get to know you guys better nowt that we’re off the road.” 

“That sounds great,” said my dad, brightly. And with that, our party split up. 

I followed my dad into the belly of the ship, where we would be looking for a place to stay. He chatted happily as we climbed the steep, metal stairs that served as a backbone to the ship. My father seemed delighted to get to talk with other traders, especially the ones he’d heard so much about from my stories. 

As we walked, we passed the common room. It was free, but it was also short on beds. My dad took one look at the two cots available and shook his head. 

“There won’t be any space for our stuff,” he said. “We’re going to want to find a place with better security.” 

So, we headed up to the third floor, where my father had hazy memories of a hotel there. Sure enough, we found one. It was a bit expensive, but we would be able to swing it. We went to the front desk to pay for a room to share. As my father took our keys and made friendly small talk with Vera Weatherly, the hotel owner, I noticed that there was a man glowering in the corner. 

He was dressed pretty plainly, and if it hadn’t been for his angry manner, I likely wouldn’t have noticed him at all. But there was something about his stare that just seemed off to me. He caught me looking at him, and sent a pointed look my way. I turned back to Vera. 

She looked a little startled, and leaned in to whisper to my father and I. 

“That’s one of my regulars. His name is Sister.” At my puzzled look, she shook her head slightly, looking a little scared. “Don’t ask him about it. He’s been here for weeks. Says that he has business in the city, but I hardly ever see him leave that chair. He gives me the creeps, but his caps are good, so…” She shrugged. I wondered if she gossiped this much about all her guests, or just the creepy ones who glowered in the corner. Either way, I made a mental note not to share any personal information with her. 

Bidding Vera a friendly goodbye, we went to our room. It was so nice to finally set down the pack that I’d carried so far across the Wastes. I stretched my back out with a “pop,” while my dad sat down and emptied his shoes of rocks and sand. 

“So, son,” he said. “What do you think of the city?” 

“It’s amazing,” I said. “I never knew that there could be a settlement in the Wasteland this big.” 

He nodded. “You’re right. I think people get used to the idea of Rivet City always being here, but I read recently that it only sprung up within my lifetime, after some scientists made a base here in the city. It may not look like it, but it takes a lot to keep this place safe and running.” 

He peered up at me seriously. “That’s why I want to make one thing clear. I know you’re going after the Lone Wanderer, but I want you to be careful. Please don’t do anything to negatively affect the people of this city.” 

I felt a pang in my chest. How could he think that I’d do such a thing? “Dad,” I said. “Of course, I wouldn’t. The Lone Wanderer is the one who killed mom. Everyone else here is innocent. I wouldn’t do anything to them.” 

He moved as if he was going to say something, but fell short. After a moment’s pause, he shrugged and said, “Maybe we ought to be heading to dinner right about now.” 

I glanced at my watch and saw he was right. I nodded, not knowing what else to say. 

Grif and his caravan were already sitting at a table with meals in front of them when we came. Maybe of the other tables surrounding the small dinner were filled with what looked to be Rivet City residents. I wondered briefly if this was where everyone normally had their dinners here. It seemed expensive to me. 

Becca waved us over happily. She had a bowl of instant ramen in front of her, but it looked more appetizing than most of the bowls of the stuff I had seen. Grif was leaning over a plate of what seemed to be stew, and Buck was sitting backward on a chair, already chowing down on a shish-kebab. It was nice to see he hadn’t changed. 

My father and I stopped to talk to the owner of the place, a man named Gary. He seemed friendly enough, and happily took our orders. I asked for a bowl of the noodles, and my dad had the mac and cheese. After paying from our store of caps, we went to sit with our group. 

“Hey, guys,” said Becca, before slurping down a bite of the noodles. She gestured at my bowl with her chopsticks. “Nice choice, by the way. Gary’s one of the only people in the Wastes who knows how to cook these right.” 

“Thanks,” I said with a smile. It was nice to remember how easy it was to spend time with Becca. She often seemed cheerful, despite the dire state of the world. 

For a while, we made small talk about the normal things traders liked to talk about. Prices, brahmin, trades. It seemed from Grif’s happy demeanor that his talk with Seagrave had gone well, but he refused to say anything until the deal was completely finalized, even though Becca was buzzing with expectation when the subject came up. 

Still, the mood at the table was happy. Soon, the adults were ordering beers to toast our good fortune in running into each other. My dad seemed to be rapidly warming up to the group. I downed Nuka-Colas to stay awake as the hour grew later and the other stall owners started to clean up around us. 

After a while, we were sitting around the table in the dazed attitudes of people who had eaten far too much. Becca had her head in her palm, and was gazing off into space. She seemed to be almost on the verge of falling asleep. That’s why her next words surprised me. 

“Can you believe that the Lone Wanderer might be at the Jefferson Memorial right now? We could walk there right now,” she said in a daze. She yawned. “We can ask her how she’s planning on taking down the Enclave.” She giggled excitedly, and seemed to perk up. 

“She’s...taking down the Enclave?” I asked. 

“That’s what the people on the radio say,” Becca said, smiling and stretching. 

I felt the familiar stirring of anger. I had never heard much about this “Enclave,” but if they were against the Lone Wanderer, how bad could they be? 

In a spurt of impulsivity, I said, “But, I mean, do we even want that? I mean, what has the Enclave done that’s that bad, really?” I asked, looking around the table for any sign of support. 

I didn’t get any. 

A hush fell around the table. Becca looked at me with her mouth agape. She closed it again, eyebrows creased. But before she could say anything, Buck jumped in. 

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. In contrast to his earlier air of not caring about anything I had to say, he leaned forward on his chair, glaring at me. “You can’t seriously believe that. Even with a past like yours.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” my father asked, coldly. 

Buck turned a fierce gaze on him. “Oh, just that we first found your son running around downtown in raider gear, how about that? And now, out of nowhere, he’s voicing support for the Enclave. Maybe that’s what it means.” 

Though Buck had always been gruff with me, I had never thought that he would turn on me like this. Before I could think, I said, “I am not a raider, and I don’t support the Enclave. I just...don’t see why everything has to change. I don’t know why we have to follow along with everything the Lone Wanderer does.” 

Becca gaped at me. “Tom, you can’t believe that we’re following her blindly. Do you even know how many people she’s saved? There’s this town we trade at, Big Town, and their leader says they would’ve been wiped off the map if the Lone Wanderer hadn’t saved them. And that’s just one settlement! People everywhere can’t stop telling us all the amazing stuff she’s done. She’s done so much good for the Wasteland, can’t you see that?” 

My dad turned to me, a pleading look in his eyes. It was almost like this had been what he’d wanted to say back in the room, and he was silently praying that I’d finally listen. But the look only made me more angry. Why didn’t any of them understand? 

“Whatever,” I said. I pushed my chair away roughly from the table. Everytime I tried to think about the Lone Wanderer doing anything, all I could see was my mother’s face. 

“I need some air,” I said. 

My dad reached for me, “Now, son…” he started to say. 

But I was already walking away. 

I climbed onto the upper deck, which was wide and open to the darkening night. The air was crisp, right on the edge of chilly. I pulled my clothes in tighter around myself, and silently berated myself. It was clear that I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It had been so awful, seeing Becca’s face fall like that. And I hadn’t liked making Buck angry with me. He had seemed to just be a generally angry person, but now I was sure that he’d really hate me. 

And that didn’t even get into how I’d probably made my dad and Grif feel. 

With a groan, I sat on a bench and put my head in my hands. I tried to ignore the world, for just a moment. 

But then, I heard Grif’s voice. “What’s going on with you, kid?” 

I pulled my head from my hands and looked at him. I had expected him to be completely disappointed in me, like I was sure my father would be. But instead, he looked mainly concerned. 

“My mom died,” I said. I couldn’t get into the full story, not right now. But even without the full story, Grif nodded sagely. 

“Ah,” he said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Is that why you’re angry?” 

I stared straight ahead, and blinked hard against my moistening eyes. I was annoyed at the building tears. I didn’t even feel sad. “Yeah,” I said. 

He heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not going to lie, kid. I’m not happy that you upset Becca. She was very excited to have a friend her age. And, as you’ve noticed, she also happens to be a huge supported of the Lone Wanderer.” 

I went to speak, but he held up a hand to stop me. “Son, I don’t know what your beef with her is. And I’m not sure I want to know. But I will say this. The version of Becca you’re seeing? The happy, confident version? She disappeared for many years when her mother died. It was only when they started talking about the Lone Wanderer that she became herself again.” 

I swallowed. “So, you don’t want me to say anything about the Lone Wanderer to her.” 

He looked concerned, like he didn’t want me getting the wrong idea in any way. “No, kid. I’m not your father. I can’t tell you what to do. And didn’t I tell you all those weeks ago that getting out of the criminal life is tougher than you think? Well, stuff like this is part of that. The anger, the lashing out, the grudges. I don’t blame you for them. You may want to be more careful who you may hurt, though. 

“I think you’re on a journey. And it’s a tough one. I don’t envy you. Just...be careful, okay?” 

He stood, and set a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about your mom. Really.” 

I stared straight ahead of myself as he walked, hands in his pockets, back to the door into the ship. I will didn’t have it in me quite yet to head back in. I still wasn’t sure what my dad would think about what I’d said. It could wait, at least for a few minutes. 

Right when I was thinking of heading back before night completely fell, a shadowy figure walked up to me. I recognized him. It was Sister, from the hotel. I found myself looking at him in confusion, wondering what he wanted. 

Before I could say anything, he walked past me, slipping a small piece of paper into my hand. Just as quickly, he disappeared into the night. 

Confused, I stood and walked into one of the circles of light cast by the lamps illuminating the outside of the ship. In the yellow light I read: 

I hear that you’re also not a fan of the Lone Wanderer. Meet me in the Muddy Rudder tomorrow at midnight. My associates and I want to ask you something. 

I swallowed, and crumpled up the note and stuffed it in my pocket. Finally, after days of wondering if anyone in the world felt the same way. Finally, after wondering if there was any way to stand up to her. _Finally._

I had a lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! So, this story has gotten a bit more attention recently, which makes me so incredibly happy. I want to say a quick apology. For a few chapters after Darling's Story, I found myself not trying as hard on a few chapters. I'm really not proud of that. 
> 
> But then, after seeing the interest that people have in this story, the comments, the kudos, I got fired up again. In fact, I'm very very excited for what's coming. I have a lot of very interesting conflicts that I want to write about. I find myself sometimes writing scenes and conversations that still won't happen for a chapter (or three,) because I'm so excited about the story again. 
> 
> So, I want to thank you guys. I notice every view, every comment, every like. And they all make me so incredibly happy. :) 
> 
> Oh, and really quick note about the story itself: I think that I like finding differences between Grif and Tom's father, since they're both definitely father figures to him. I think that right now, Tom's dad is at a bit of a loss. And Grif, on the other hand, has a lot of wordly experience, but Becca is always his first priority. I think that it's interesting to explore the ways that they are different, and I hope to do more in coming chapters.
> 
> Thanks again, and know that anything you do with this story, from reading to commenting to sharing, makes me so, so happy.


	14. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has meetings, both planned and unplanned. And he learns a lot at each.

I woke up clammy and nervous. For a moment, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why. It was only when my head began to clear that I remembered the dream I’d been having. It had been about my mother. 

I turned onto my side and groaned. Memories were flooding my mind. I remembered the awful fight that I’d had with Grif’s caravan in the marketplace. Everything had been going so well, and then I had opened my stupid mouth. And the worst part was, dad kept giving me these weird looks, like he didn’t know what to say to me. I couldn’t really blame him. How do you go from never really being a father to someone like me? 

By the time I’d come back to the hotel room last night, he had been sleeping. It was a true testament to how safe the ship was, that he would just let me wonder off the way I did. Though, I suppose that he had never done much to limit my freedom. It was a true gift, and one that I probably didn’t deserve. 

Especially because I still had the note from last night in my pocket. 

“You awake?” asked my father. He was at the hotel room’s desk, counting money. 

I stretched and yawned. No point pretending I was asleep. “Yeah,” I said. I sat up. “How long have you been up?” 

He shrugged. “A few hours. You get used to early mornings in the trading business. Figured I’d count our money.” 

Despite myself, I cringed. “How’re we doing?” I asked. In my haste to get to Rivet City, I had never really put much thought into what would happen if and when we ran out of me. 

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” he said, sweeping the piles of caps into a bag and returning it to the hidden pouch in his jacket. “But still, we need to talk about what we’re doing next.” 

He looked at me seriously. I gulped. It was only then dawning on me, the situation that I’d gotten him into. He’d gone from an established trader in a well-respected city to a traveler with a bag of coins to his name. And, even worse, I couldn’t tell him about the meeting I was planning. As far as he know, I wasn’t making any progress on at something I shouldn’t even be doing. 

Maybe he was right. 

Still, I knew that I had to face the music. I would have to make sure that my dad would be okay, no matter what happened to me. I turned so I was sitting sideways on the edge of the bed, and said, “What are you thinking?” 

He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, looking exhausted. I heard a pop. “Well, I was talking to Grif after you left last night, and he says that he might have a job for me, depending on what happens with Seagrave.” 

“That’s great!” I said. “What’s the job?” 

“Trading, of course,” he said, smiling for the first time that day. “Well, I suppose that I would be more like a manager, in a way, in charge of an offshoot of his business.” 

“That’s amazing,” I said, genuinely happy for him. It was amazing how quickly he was able to find such a great opportunity here. It made me wonder if I ever could have been like him.

Again, he shrugged, this time sheepishly. “Well, of course, nothing’s set in stone. And I’m probably going to be working with Grif and his caravan for the next few days for some extra money.” 

He peered up at me. “He said that you’re welcome to join us, if you want. I’m sure we could find something for you to do.” 

I almost agreed immediately. But then, I remembered everything that I was here to do. I had come here to find and confront the Lone Wanderer, not to become a trader. That wasn’t what I had set out for. 

So, I shook my head. “I’m really sorry dad. But I just...I have to focus on what I came here to do.” 

He peered at me quietly for a long moment. “About that. Do you, really?” I flinched, and he looked apologetic. “Son, I know that we’ve had this conversation before. But...there are so many opportunities here. You could train to be a trader, or a medic or even a scientist…” 

“The Lone Wanderer took the scientists, remember?” I asked, sharply. He must have heard the anger and venom in my voice, because he just sighed. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he said. He stood. “Just, know that I love you. No matter what happens.” He walked to the door, and stood with his hand on the wheel that opened it. “What are you doing today?” 

I thought about the note. I had nothing lined up for the day.

“Well, I might walk around the marketplace, and then I was thinking I might check out the Muddy Rudder later,” I said, honestly. 

My dad gave me an odd look. “Really? I mean, I don’t have a problem with the owner of that bar, but I think that even she would say that it’s a bit of a dive.” 

I nodded. “I’m sure. I hear about it...you know. Back in the Mills.” 

A considerably awkward silence passed. Besides the first time we’d met, we tried not to talk about my past in the Mills. I knew that, even now, my dad felt guilty about not being there for me when I was growing up. 

Wanting to avoid the topic, he looked away. “Ah, well. I guess that it’s as good a way to spend the day here as any other. The caravan and I aren’t going to spend much time in the marketplace today. Instead, we’re going to be visiting some of Grif’s contacts throughout the city, selling them items in bulk.” 

I was secretly relieved. I wasn’t sure if I could face Grif, Buck, and especially Becca right then. We said our good-byes, and my father left to meet up with the caravan. For a long time, I stayed in the room, staring at the ceiling. 

What was I doing? 

Eventually, I got dressed. I would have to spend my time today somehow. I started my dad with a surprisingly good lunch in the lobby, given that it was served to me by an eight year old boy. Apparently, the boy was Vera’s nephew who she’d taken in after he’d been orphaned. 

Then, true to my word, I wandered the Marketplace, shifting about thirty caps in my hand, looking for something to buy. Since I wasn’t in the mood for clothes, drugs, or guns, I ended up buying a Nuka-Cola, which I drank as I walked. 

Around noon, I was walking down an unfamiliar hallway, wondering again what I would hear that night in the Muddy Rudder, when I heard familiar voices coming from the other end of the hallway. I froze.   
“Man, that Abraham Washington is a weird guy,” said Becca. “But he sure can buy.” 

“Yeah. No idea where he gets the caps, but I’m not complaining.” 

It was Becca and Buck, coming up the hallway. I could hear their footsteps getting closer. The closer they got, the more nervous I became. Looking around, I tried to find a place to duck and hide. I knew that both of them must have been so mad at me, and I couldn’t face it. Not then. 

I saw that there was a door, behind me and to my right. It was open, so I ducked inside. Without thinking, I turned and closed the door behind me. Heart pounding, I leaned against it, listening for the sound of Buck and Becca’s voices as they faded away. 

I sighed. 

“Excuse me,” a stern male voice said. “Are you finished, or are you going to spend the rest of the day acting suspicious and leaning against my door?” 

I turned. Standing in the middle of the room was an older man, with shaggy white hair and glasses. He had a shrynge in one hand, and was looking at me critically. Looking around the room, I realized that it had to be some kind of hospital. There was a cot with a man sleeping on it, a computer mounted on the wall right in front of me, and a desk strewn with medical supplies. I took a step backward, and almost walked backward into a small, metal stand covered in devices I didn’t understand. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to come in here. It’s just…” What was I supposed to say? That a threatening man and a girl who probably hated me were walking down the hallway and I had to hide? Pathetic. But then, I remembered what my dad had said earlier that day, about looking for an opportunity. 

I straightened up. “I’m….interested in medicine, and I had a few questions.” I wasn’t quite sure where this had come from, but the moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew it was true. When I’d been a child, my mother had given me a medical textbook for one of my birthdays. Though I didn’t understand most of the words, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do, hiding in our shared room while she was working. I read the thing cover to cover again and again, and I had a pretty good grasp on it. Enough that I was okay with selling it one week when we ran out of food. 

He huffed, annoyed. “Do you know how often I hear that excuse kid? Look, if you’re looking for drugs, you can ask Cindy Cantelli. Or, you can at least have the common decency to pretend your wrist is broken.” 

“No, no. I really am interested. I’ve always liked science, but I never had a chance to ask anyone about it until now.” 

He peered at me over his glasses, looking cynical. 

“Fine.” He said. “I don’t have any job openings, of course. Lord knows I have barely enough business here to support myself, much less an intern.” 

He plunged the syringe into the arm of the man. Despite myself, and the fact that the man was asleep, I cringed. Dropping the syringe into a wastebasket, he said, “But if it’ll really make you happy, and you stay quiet, I guess you can stay.” 

I spent the rest of the day in the clinic. The old man, who introduced himself as Dr. Preston, didn’t ask me to do anything. In fact, he specifically requested that I stay away from his patients and not touch anything. Still, it was an amazing day. In those few hours, I learned more about medicine that I had from that book all those years ago. It helped that this time, I knew the words. 

The best part was when a man came in, clearly addled. Gripping his arm, and looking around guiltily, he said, “I need another addiction treatment, doc.” 

With bad grace, Preston gave the man a shot, saying, “This really better be the last time. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

The man nodded, and backed out of the room, thanking Preston thoroughly. 

“You can do that?” I asked, looking at Preston in wonder. 

“What? Tell clients to shape up? Of course I can.” 

“No, I mean treat addiction,” I said. 

The doctor shrugged, packing up his things. “Yeah, not that it does much good. Sometimes, I think people get addicted to the cure.” 

Now that his things were packed away in a briefcase, he looked at me critically. “Kid, you’d better head out. I know you’re eager to study medicine, but I’m not going to let you stay here and breathe on my patient all night.” 

“It’s night?” I asked, dazedly. Looking at my watch, I jumped. It was already past eleven thirty. I would have to run to make my meeting with Sister and his associate. “I have to go!” I said. 

“Yeah, I know, I just told you,” said Preston, pulling out a set of keys, presumably to lock up. 

But I was already running. 

I ran down the stairs to the bar, coming upon a door, solid metal like all the rest. I stood in front of it for a moment, trying to catch my breath before opening it. 

Once inside, I was greeted with hazy cigarette smoke and the acrid smell of booze in the air. I was standing on a lofted balcony, looking over a dingy bar. Crowding most of the space were tables covered in dirty cups and empty bottles. It looked like it was hardly ever cleaned. 

I went down the stairs into the belly of the bar. There, I saw Sister, sitting with a man that I’d never seen before. 

Sister was sitting there, leaning forward and looking just as grumpy as he normally was. He grunted in greeting when he saw me. “You’re late,” he said. 

I panted. “I know. I’m sorry. I ran all the way here.” 

He glanced away from me. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s get to business. Kid, this is Roman. My associate.” 

I looked at the man. He looked dusty, like he’d just walked off the Wasteland. His hair was done up in a red mohawk, and he was wearing cheap, generic armor. There was an open beer in front of him. Though I couldn’t say how, I immediately sensed that he was a raider. Hesitantly, I took the stool next to him. 

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Thomas. You can call me Tom.” 

He took a swig of his beer, tipping up the bottle with the tips of his fingers. “You’re the kid who hates the Lone Wanderer?” he asked. 

“Not so loud,” I said, looking around. The woman behind the bar was wiping a tankard with a dirty, gray rag. 

“Kid, no one cares,” said Sister, staring me down. “No one here is listening, trust me. All they care about is their next drink.” 

“Fine,” I said. “Yes. I hate the Lone Wanderer. She killed my mother.” 

“I don’t care about your sob story kid, what I care about is if you want in on our plan. She’s screwed over all of us somehow, that’s all any of us need to know about each other.” 

I paused. “What’s the plan?” I asked. 

Sister snorted. “What do you think, kid? We’re going to kill her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now THIS was a fun chapter to write. I realized only last week that I wasn't talking about Tom's interest in medicine. It's such a vital part of his character, and I'm sorry that it hasn't made an appearance yet. 
> 
> I know that there are a lot of crazy things happening in the world right now, so I almost wondered if there was a place for me to post this story. But, you know what, I want to keep working on this story, and if anyone does me the honor of reading, I should make sure that they have something to read, huh? 
> 
> In future chapters, a lot's going down. He still needs to patch things up with Becca and Buck. He needs to talk to his dad about this stuff, and he has to meet his destiny. That's all I'm gonna say about that. For now. 
> 
> Anyway, as always, I love seeing every view, every bookmark, every comment. You guys keep me writing, even when it's hard, and I don't know how to start a chapter. There are times when I don't even know what to say until I start, and you guys keep me going. Thank you all so much. Every read, comment, and kudos is deeply appreciated.


	15. Plans in Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatched

I sputtered into my glass. Of course, I should have known that was what they would be planning. It wasn’t like they were going to host a meeting about her to say anything less than that. Clearly, my shock disgusted them. Roman looked at me like a was scum beneath his feet, and gave Sister a look that seemed to convey just how stupid I was, and how stupid Sister was for bringing me. 

Sister hit me roughly on the back. “Calm down, kid. You’re no good to us dead.” 

“I don’t think he’s any good alive,” said Roman, looking over my head at Sister, angry. 

Sister shook his head, and directed his next words to Roman, ignoring me completely. “He’s someone who hates her enough to come here, isn’t he? He’s someone she’s never seen before. He radiates ‘innocent’ and ‘clueless,’ meaning he’s just the kind of person she likes to save.” 

Recovering my breath, I pressed a hand against the ache in my chest. “You...want to use me as bait?” 

With a nod, Sister said, “That’s the plan. She knows what I’ve been up to in Rivet City. Suffice it to say, she doesn’t like me. But, she also doesn’t want to take me out, not here in the city. Not if it’ll make her look bad to her precious citizens. Still, if I seemed to need help from her, she’d smell a trap a mile off. Same with Roman here. He…” 

“Hey,” said Roman. “We don’t have to tell him anything.” 

Sister waved him off impatiently. “You seriously think I’d tell him anything important? Look, all you need to know is that she’s killed a lot of Roman’s men. Good men. And he got away. But before he did, she saw his face. That’s why he can’t be bait, either. 

“There, Roman. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t need to know.” Roman still looked pissed as he took another swig of his beer. 

I had a moment to think. I didn’t like the way they were treating me. More than anything, I felt like a piece of meat. They hadn’t told me the plan, and all I was picturing was sitting in the center of a huge bear trap, waiting for the Lone Wanderer to save me. I didn’t like the idea, and it occurred to me that in addition to worrying about her recognizing them, it might also be a pride issue for these two.

“What’s the full plan?” I asked. 

Roman snorted. “You still in, city boy?” he asked. “I thought you’d turn tail the moment we hurt your feelings.” He drew out the word, making it as mocking as he could. 

If there was one thing I knew, it was that you couldn’t let guys like this push you around. Once it started, it never stopped. I remembered Butch all those months ago at my Initiation, and the feel of his knuckles against my face. 

“I never said I was in,” I said, leveling Roman with a glance. “All I ever said was that I hated her. Yeah, I want her gone, but how do I know you guys have anything I should stick around to hear? You haven’t even bought me a beer.” 

Roman looked at me with disgust, but waved down the barwoman. “A beer,” he said. “For the kid.” 

“Bottled,” I told her. I wanted something sealed, something Roman wouldn’t have a chance to poison or spit in, since he so clearly hated me. 

The barwoman slid me my beer, and I cracked it open. I took a sip of it, even though it was cheap and tasted horrible. I knew how deals like this went. You had to seem disinterested, so bored that you might walk off any time. 

“Now,” I said, “what’s the plan?” I asked, once the barwoman was safely out of the way. It wouldn’t do to be overheard. 

Sister readjusted, sitting closer to me. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s the thing. Almost everyone in the Wasteland loves her, right? Well, there are those like us, people who want her out of the way.  
Sometimes, it’s personal. More often, it’s because she’s bad for business. There’s us, the Enclave, and a few other...select groups who would be able to breath a bit more freely if she just...disappeared.” 

He took a huge drink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s where we come in. Now, sure, loads of people have thrown bodies at her. Mark my words, that’s what the Enclave is doing as we speak. But she mows them down. All of them. She’s unstoppable.” He finished his break, and in his short pause, I whispered, “I know.” 

He nodded. “Well, that’s the thing. I got to thinking, why do we keep trying something we know doesn’t work? Isn’t there a smarter way to go about this? And, well, what do we know about her?”  
“She can’t stop saving people,” Roman supplied. He clearly already knew this pitch, and was just adding his voice to a song he already knew. 

“Exactly. So, I figured, why don’t we set a trap? Draw her in with the one thing she can’t resist, and take her out. The thing is, though, I’ve been having a hard time thinking of anyone to send in. I was thinking of just swiping one of the brats that run around this place. By Roman and I, we value our ability to walk freely around the city. And stealing kids tends to put a stop to that.” 

The casual way that he was speaking about such things made me sick. He couldn’t really mean it, could he? This just had to be typical tough-guy talk, right? I couldn’t stay if he was serious, and I was so desperate to stay. 

So, I ignored the doubts that were surfacing. 

“For weeks, I’ve been on the lookout for someone like you. Someone who wants her gone, but who is also unaligned. I couldn’t very well ask the Enclave for a solider I could borrow, or send in anyone she knows. I had to find someone like you. Someone completely unknown, from some small town. Someone nobody knows and who will go into the trap willingly.” 

“You were looking for someone to scam,” I said, gripping my bottle tightly. More and more, this was seeing like the power-hungry delusions of two people beneath my notice. Maybe I really should be leaving. 

“Someone who wants to be a part of history,” said Roman. “Someone who has a bone to pick, and is willing to do what it takes.” 

“Bait,” I said. “A pawn.” 

“That’s a cynic’s way of saying it,” said Roman. “But, yes. Bait.” He still looked at me with barely-shielded loathing. 

“And how exactly are you planning on taking her down?” I asked. 

“You don’t need to know that yet. In fact, you might not need to know it at all. But what we need to know right now is, how much are you willing to risk? Are you willing to risk your life?” 

“I’ll die if I do this?” I asked, blanching. I looked around the bar, now wishing someone had been listening.

Sister shook his head. “Not necessarily. But, it’s risky, every way you look at it. The thing we’re thinking of using...it’s powerful. Powerful and hard to control. We’d try to avoid you, but we can’t make any promises. And, of course, there’s the Lone Wanderer herself. If she figures out what you’re up to, there’s nothing we or anyone else will be able to do to help you.” 

He drank deeply, finishing the cup. “So what we need to know, right here, right now, is how much you’re willing to give up. You might survive. You might die. But, either way, you might really rid the Wasteland of her...forever. What are you willing to do?” 

I looked down, thinking. There was one thing holding me back. “My father….” I said. 

Sister snorted. “The man you checked in with? What about him?” 

I looked Sister dead in the eye. “I would need a guarantee that he’d be left alone. Maybe even that he’d be given some caps if I don’t make it. He gave up everything for me to come here, to look for the Lone Wanderer. He deserves nothing less.” 

Sister nodded his head slowly. “Not harming him is no problem, as long as he doesn’t know anything. And, if you don’t make it, we can give him the fee we would have paid you, anonymously, of course. We’d claim it’s a donation from an interested party, in recognition of his loss.” 

I nodded. My father was the main thing still tying me to the world. I didn’t have a job, a career, anything. All I had was a past, and him. If he’d be okay...maybe I could give up the rest. My mother had given up everything for me, and her murderer was still walking free. Maybe, I could change that. 

“I think I'm in,” I said.

The next morning, all I could do was stare at the ceiling. They had told me the rest of the plan later that night. It was unthinkable, unrealistic, unreasonable and had only the slightest chance of working. But it did have just the slightest chance. 

It was all I had. 

“Son,” my father said. “Have you heard?” 

“Heard what?” I asked. “That the Lone Wanderer is coming to town?” Roman had told me. The day she came in would be the day of the plan. 

My father shook his head. “No, not that. But I did learn something about her yesterday, while working with Grif’s caravan. It’s hard not to learn more about her, working with Becca.” 

I grunted. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. 

Seeming to understand me, my father held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Hear me out. I learned that her father died. Very recently, in fact.” 

“What?” I asked, after a pause. 

He nodded. “He died, recently. While working to give the Wasteland free, purified water. He wanted to give this place a whole new start. Some people are saying such a surge of moving, clean water might even bring back life to the Wasteland one day. It might reset the water cycle, and bring back the rain.” 

“And he died?” I asked. 

My father nodded. “Stopping the Enclave from taking control of the project.” He looked at me seriously. “Now, son, I know that I don’t have much space to make speeches to you. I wasn’t there for you. I’ve hardly been there for anyone. But, I do think you might...misunderstand what’s happening with the Enclave. They’re not good because they’re against the Lone Wanderer. They might be the most destructive force in the Wasteland.” 

“And she’s not destructive?” I asked, getting angry. 

He tilted his head. He looked so, so tired. “I don’t know about that, son. All I know is, she’s carrying the torch for him. They say that she’s working with the Brotherhood to continue the project. They say she might bring back the rain.” 

He gave me a pleading look. “Son, I know you’re planning something. Belle told me.” 

“The bar owner?” I asked, shocked. I could’ve sworn that she hadn’t heard anything we’d been saying. 

He nodded. “You can’t blame her. I went early this morning, when you were still sleeping. I was worried about you. And she tends to know everything happening under her roof, believe me. She doesn’t know the details. But she knows you agreed to risk your life.” He looked like he might cry. “Son, please don’t do this. Your mother wouldn’t want you to give your life. She wouldn’t want you to get in the way of the Wasteland coming back to life, no matter who was doing it. She wasn’t hateful. She could have been, she had every right. But she never was.” 

I pulled away, standing. “I don’t want to do it, dad. But I have to do something. I have to face her, if it’s the last thing I do. I need her to see the face of the people like me. You can understand that, can’t you?” I asked. 

He stared at me, and shook his head. “I can’t stop you, can I?” he asked. 

I looked at him. I felt terrible when I said, “No, I don’t think you can.” 

He looked down. “I hope someone does,” he said. “Because your life is worth more than revenge. I wish you could see that.” 

“I have to think,” I said, walking toward the door. 

He didn’t say anything. 

  
  


I went out, and sat on the flight deck, trying to get some fresh air and sunlight. I couldn’t believe what was coming. A few hours passed, and I was about to head in when Becca found me. 

“Your plan isn’t going to work, you know,” she said, sitting next to me. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Your plan. To go after the Lone Wanderer. Your dad told my dad and me. It’ll never work. All you’ll do is get yourself killed.” She was staring resolutely straight ahead, at the Jefferson Memorial. She had one leg stretched out, and was hugging the other one to her. 

“I know,” I said. And, in that moment, I realized I did. 

She turned to me angrily. “Do you? 'Cause, at this point, I’m not sure if you understand anything. My mother was killed by a raider, Tom,” she said. 

I gulped. “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” she said. “No, you don’t get to say you’re sorry. Not when you’re going on a suicide mission. Not when you’re not even listening to me. My father is an ex-raider. Do you know what it did to us, to have one of them kill her?” She gave me a steely look before continuing. 

“She was eight years sober. Had been since I was a little girl. My father left the raider life for her. For me. And then, one day, she’s out scavenging. Some asshole thinks that he wants something she’s holding, and boom. I lose a mom, my dad loses his wife, and we were both left to pick up the pieces.” 

She turned away from me again. I saw that there were tears in her eyes. “And do you know what I would do if that raider was in front of me today?” A long pause passed between us. I didn’t dare say anything. 

Her mouth pulled into a straight line. “Nothing. I wouldn’t do anything. Because I know that no matter how good it would feel in the moment to hurt him the way he hurt my family, that it wouldn’t really do anything. I knew that I had to forgive him, because eventually, I wanted to sleep at night again. 

“I thought for so long that holding on the grudge was what made me loyal to my mom,” she paused in her speech, rubbing fiercely at the tears gathering in her eyes. “But now, I know. I wasn’t doing anything for her, all the nights I spent awake imagining every raider in the Wasteland dying. She would have wanted me to be happy, to have a life of my own. Living that life is how I’m loyal to her.  
“And now, I know. Some of the best people in our caravan are ex-raiders. They don’t talk about it much. But I know that I have to see them as humans. Because they are human.” 

She turned back to look at me. “You’re still human. You don’t have to do this, Tom.” 

I could feel my adam’s apple bob. I didn’t know what to say. 

“I have to do something,” I said. At the disappointed look in her eye, I gripped Becca’s arm before she could leave. “Maybe not...kill her. But...I have to do something.” 

She looked at me, all confusion. “But what, Tom?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe I won’t know...until that day. I don’t know. But I have to talk to her. I have to get her to see me. I have to face her and tell her about the people like me.” 

“What do you mean, the people like you?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“Former raiders. Current raiders. The ones that are addicted. Someone has to see them, Becca. Someone has to get them out,” I said. 

Her stance softened. “Can’t you talk to her without trying to kill her?” she said. 

I looked down. “I’ve wanted to kill her for so long,” I said. 

“Then stop,” she said. “It’s not healthy.” 

I could have laughed. Of course it wasn’t healthy. None of this was healthy. 

She was still looking at me, head to the side. “What do you want, Tom?” she asked. 

“I want to be a doctor,” I said. I realized that no one had ever asked me, but now that she had, I knew it was true. “I want to heal people. I want to cure their addictions, for real.” 

She nodded, slowly. “And, you want to talk to the Lone Wanderer. You want to tell her that so many people stay raiders because they’re addicted, or were forced into it?” 

I nodded. “Yes. That’s what I want. I want her to know she was wrong to act as judge and jury. I just need her to know, even if she never raises a finger to help fix this. I just need her to know what she did to me.” 

Becca stayed silent for a second, then said. “So, what you’re saying is...you need your own plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing about this chapter is, it started off a lot more ruthless. Just like Tom's dad originally didn't want to take care of him, Tom originally was going to be ruthless in the execution of this plan. He was going to be a lot more sure, a lot more secretive, and would have been a lot harder to convince. 
> 
> But you know how when you're writing, and you get a sense of the characters? Well, Tom is always surprising me with how moral he wants to be, even when he's angry. Even when he's hurt. I have to say that in writing this story, he has surprised me the most. I love writing him, and I can't believe how close we are to the end. 
> 
> And yes, we are close. Next, is the confrontation. And then, the ending. I'm not sure how many chapters it will be. 
> 
> I love these characters, and I have to thank from the bottom of my heart once again everyone who's read, commented, given me a kudos. You guys are so great, and make me so happy. 
> 
> So, here we are. Home stretch. I hope you'll all come along with me. 
> 
> (Oh, and, I have no idea if purifying the water would start the rain again. That's more themeatic than anything. I've always pictured the rains coming back one day after finishing 3, and when I played 4 and saw that there were rains there, the idea kind of solidified in my brain. I figure, if it's possible for there to be rain, completely resetting the water in the away, and moving it around like crazy might just get the rain to start again one day. This is just speculation but hey, so is the rest of it.)


	16. An Announcement (Taking a break)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have an announcement to make

Read chapter notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! So, I'm not entirely sure if A03 has a better way to make announcements. But I just wanted to say that I won't be updating this story this month. 
> 
> I've been working really hard to update every Thursday, because I really respect and appreciate everyone who reads this story, and I've always wanted to keep you guys updated. But this break also comes from a place of love and respect. You see, I'm working on a big project for Nanowrimo. I had thoughts of forcing myself to update this story at the same time. But, considering that the next few chapters of this story will require a lot of planning and care, I just don't think that it would be fair to just rush a chapter out in an hour or two every week. 
> 
> Anyway, I will be keeping this chapter up until December, when I should (knock on wood) take up this story again. I think that I might also take some time this month to plan stuff out for this story. And, when I come back, I hope that I can write a strong ending for it. 
> 
> So, yeah. Bye, everyone! I love y'all, and every comment you make! I'm sad to do this. But stay tuned to updates, resuming in a month. 
> 
> :)


End file.
